


Episode IV - Un Nouvel Espoir

by kjack89



Series: L’Insurrection Républicaine des Étoiles (Star Wars AU) [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 40,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Star Wars AU</strong>. Cosette Fauchelevent follows Jedi Knight Jean Valjean on a damn fool idealistic crusade to rescue Prince Enjolras, with some aid from smuggler, pirate and scoundrel Grantaire, and ends up in the middle of a Revolution. VIVE LA RÉPUBLIQUE GALACTIQUE!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted to write a Star Wars AU, ok?
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> Basically, this will be a reimagining/retelling of the Star Wars story with our favorite Les Mis characters, published in Machete Order (Episodes IV, V, II, III, VI). My aim is to have one episode published per month, to finish right around the time Episode VII is coming out.
> 
> In terms of similarities to the films, as with most of my AUs, this will start out pretty similar but then will diverge both in plot and character development as it goes on. The greatest divergence will be the "prequels" (Episodes II and III), which is probably because as an avid Star Wars fan, I feel more comfortable dismantling those narratives than the original trilogy. 
> 
> If you've never seen Star Wars, this will probably still make sense to you because it follows a similar structure as the films. There's a tiny bit of self-referential humor that won't make a lot of sense, but it's so small you'll probably miss it anyway.
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> Above all, this whole epic nonsense hopefully doesn't take itself too seriously because there's nothing serious about this whatsoever. Just good-natured, "Les Mis as Star Wars!!!!!!" fun.
> 
> Usual disclaimer - I own neither Les Misérables nor Star Wars and am covered under parody laws so Lucasfilms can concentrate on more pertinent breaches of copyright violations *insert Rihanna wink gif here*. I put this as a "teen" warning because, well, you never know. All mistakes and typos are my own, save for any mistakes/typos in French because those are Google's fault.
> 
> Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos.

_A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away..._

L’INSURRECTION RÉPUBLICAINE DES ÉTOILES

EPISODE IV

Un Nouvel Espoir

 

_It is a period of civil war. The galaxy is divided between the evil Galactic Empire, insistent on enslaving its peoples, and the Revolution, determined to free the Galaxy from the Empire’s grip._

_Les Amis de l’ABC, a subgroup of the Revolution, managed to step secret plans to the Empire’s ultimate weapon, L’ÉTOILE DE LA MORT, an armored space station with enough power to destroy an entire planet._

_Pursued by the Empire’s sinister agents and Galactic Guard, Prince Enjolras races home aboard his starship, custodian of the stolen plans that can save his people and restore freedom to the galaxy..._

 

The boom from the explosion didn’t sound terrible, but the way the ship rocked from the blast, and the way the gold-plated robot staggered into its companion, a short, rotund droid, showed that the explosion was more serious than it sounded. “This is madness,” said the first droid, rather grimly, a slight note of panic in its tinny voice. “We’ll be destroyed for sure! We’re doomed!”

Its histrionics seemed to have little effect on its companion, who just whistled lightly, and the robot gave it a side look. “Don’t take that tone with me, Q4-RAC,” it snapped, pronouncing the smaller droid’s name like ‘Courfeyrac’. “There’ll be no escape for the Prince this time, and then what will happen to us?”

Q4-RAC beeped almost cheerfully, and the other robot made to retort when a second explosion rocked the ship. Suddenly, a loud, metallic sound burst through the ship, as if they had hit something, and the two droids were pushed to the side by troops who ran past, unholstering their blasters.

A blast punched a gaping hole through the wall of the ship, and the troops opened fire on the white Stormtroopers that burst through, followed by a tall woman dressed all in black who stared impassively at the carnage in front of her through her face mask.

“Let’s go, Q4, before we’re blown to bits!”

Both robots ducked down one of the halls of the spaceship, though they were soon separated by troops rushing past, some running towards the fighting, some fleeing. As soon as it realized Q4 had disappeared, the other robot froze, looking this way and that. “Q4!” it called, its voice tinny with distress. “Q4-RAC, where are you?”

It caught glimpse of its companion down the hall, with a tall, lithe, blond-haired man bending down as if to insert something in Q4’s memory drive. “Q4!” it called, and the man quickly straightened, his face hardening as he glanced over.

Then the man was gone, and the robot moved as quickly as it could toward its wayward companion. “Where have you been?” the gold droid scolded. “They’re headed this way, and we’ll be smashed to pieces in no time.” Q4 ignored it, instead scooting past it.

The other robot trailed after it. “Where are you going?” it asked plaintively, and when Q4 continued to ignore it, sighed heavily. “Curse your stubborn nature.”

* * *

 

The tall woman in black continued to survey the wreckage impassively, though it would be impossible for her to have any other expression, as her entire face was hidden behind a shiny black helmet and mask. One of the officers approached her, visibly nervous. “Darth Moeder,” he said, solemnly, “the plans for the EDLM were not in the ship’s computer.”

For a moment, Darth Moeder just stared at him, then bent to grab one of the injured rebel troops, squeezing his neck with her gloved hand as she raised him to his feet. “Where are the transmissions your ship intercepted?” Her grip tightened as she asked, “Where are those plans?”

The rebel scrabbled in vain at the fingers clenched around his throat as he wheezed, “We intercepted...no transmissions. This — aggh — this is a consular ship; we’re on a dip—diplomatic mission.”

His voice ended in a squeak, but Darth Moeder showed no sign of loosening her grip. “If this is a consular ship,” she started, her voice almost pleasant despite her iron grip around the poor man’s neck, “then where is the Ambassador?”

The rebel just shook his head, eyes wide — bugging out of his head, in fact — but refused to answer. Darth Moeder just flexed her fingers, and the rebel gave a sharp gasp before going limp. Though Darth Moeder squeezed for a moment longer, she then released the rebel, letting the prone body slump to the ground before turning back to her own troops, the breath hissing from her face mask the only sign of exertion. “Commander, tear this ship apart until you’ve found those plans. And bring me the ambassador!” The commander nodded and turned to leave before Darth Moeder added, almost reluctantly, “Bring me him alive.”

The stormtroopers saluted before jogging off, splitting off into the different hallways of the ship in perfect synchronization, well aware of the impassive, hidden eyes staring at them as they left. Down one of the hallways, the tall, blond-haired man who had stored something in Q4 earlier paused, his face whitening as he heard the approaching bootsteps from the troopers. Without hesitating, he drew the blaster holstered at his side and pointed it unwaveringly down the hallway.

As soon as the first troopers appeared, the man squeezed the trigger, even as the commander of the troopers called, “There he is — set blasters for stun!”

The man got a few good shots in, even taking down a stormtrooper, but in the end, he was hit with a blast and crumpled to the ground. The troopers gathered around him, keeping their blasters trained on his prone form, even though he was clearly unconscious. “He’ll be alright,” the commander said. “Inform Lady Moeder that we have a prisoner.”

* * *

 

Q4 hurtled down the hallway, its companion only just keeping up with it. “Q4, slow down,” the other droid complained, its gold joints creaking slightly. Q4 drew to a stop in front of an emergency pod, extending its scomp link to the computer portal, causing the door of the pod to slide open.

“You’re not permitted in there,” its companion told it as it wheeled inside. “It’s a restricted area. When you’re caught, they’ll deactivate you.” Q4 beeped cheerfully, and the other robot made a disparaging noise. “Don’t you ‘if’ me, you greasy trashcan. Now get out of there before someone sees you.”

Instead, Q4 moved further inside, whistling innocently at the reluctant robot, who took a step towards the pod, almost against its will. Q4’s beeping grew louder, and the other robot asked skeptically, “Secret mission? Plans? What are you talking about? I’m not getting in there!”

Just as Q4 seemed about ready to let off a stream of beeps akin to cursing, another explosion rocked the ship, and the wall next to the gold robot collapsed. The droid let out a squeal and jumped into the pod as Q4 chirped gloatingly. “I’m going to regret this.”

* * *

 

An entire squad of white Stormtroopers led the blond-haired man down the hallway, their grip on his arms unnecessarily tight, given that his hands were bound in front of him. Despite their guns trained on him, the man kept his chin held high, his expression stony, and a fierce fire seemed to burn in his eyes, and flared when he saw the tall figure of Darth Moeder awaiting him.

“Lady Moeder,” he spat, his eyes flashing and his bound hands clenching into fists. “I should have know. Only you would be so bold — or so stupid. The Senate will not stand for this, not when they hear how you’ve attacked a diplomatic—”

Darth Moeder cut him off smoothly, something like amusement in her deep voice. “Don’t play games with me, Prince Enjolras. Your ship intercepted several transmissions sent by Revolution spies, and I want to know you you did with the plans they sent you.”

Enjolras’s lip curled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his expression betraying nothing, though there seemed a hint of triumph in his voice as he continued, “I’m a duly-elected member of the Senate on a diplomatic mission to Saint-Sever—”

“You’re the leader of the rebel group Les Amis de l’ABC and a traitor,” Darth Moeder growled. “Take him away!”

The stormtroopers hurried to obey, but Enjolras continued glaring at Darth Moeder, even as he was dragged down the hallway, his gaze squarely locked on Darth Moeder’s masked face. Darth Moeder’s expression was as inscrutable as ever, but that didn’t stop one of the commanders from saying nervously, “Holding him is dangerous. His arrest will only incite future rebellion, and could stir sympathy from the other factions in the Senate.”

Darth Moeder did not turn towards him, though he shuddered when he felt the invisible weight of a hand squeezing his shoulder. “He is the leader of Les Amis, and my link to finding their secret base. It is worth the risk.”

“He’ll die before he tells you anything,” the commander said, though his voice quavered slightly at the end. 

For one moment, it seemed like Darth Moeder was about to insinuate that she wished for nothing more than that, before she said smoothly, “Leave him to me.” Then her voice hardened. “Send a distress signal from this ship and inform the Senate that everyone aboard was killed.”

As she finished her command, a storm trooper jogged up, saluting Darth Moeder. “My Lady! We found no trace of the battle station plans on board this ship, and no transmissions were made. An escape pod was jettisoned during the battle, but there were no life forms aboard.”

Darth Moeder turned to the commander. “Prince Enjolras must have hidden the plans on that escape pod. Send a detachment down to—” She paused, as if recalling a name from a very faint memory, and something in her voice sounded strange as she continued “—to Montfermeil to retrieve them.”

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the strangeness in her voice disappeared, replaced by cold steel. “See to it personally, Commander,” she commanded, her fist clenching around air as if choking an invisible neck. “There’ll be no stopping us this time.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette enters the picture. Our favorite melodramatic droid performs basically the equivalent of [leaning against a tree for two hours because the world is crumbling down around it](http://baron-marius-pontmercy.tumblr.com/post/81088709377/thebesturl-baron-marius-pontmercy-remember). This will not be the last time it does this. Oh, droids.

The heat rolling over the small settlement was oppressive, and the wind that rattled the sign that read, in peeling Galactic Standard, "Welcome to Petit-Picpus", only seemed to make the heat worse. Still, it didn't seem to bother the dark-haired girl who deftly piloted her landspeeder through the dusty streets.

She stopped in front of a building as nondescript as all the others and leapt from the landspeeder seemingly before it had even stopped moving. "Ép!" she called, excitement ringing in voice.

A smaller, darker girl stepped out from the building, grinning, and grabbed the first in a fierce hug. "I didn't know you were back on the planet!" the first girl said.

"Got back today," the girl called Ép said. "Figured I'd surprise you, hot shot. I might've thought you'd be out working on your uncle's farm, but...well, Cosette, I know you better than that."

Cosette stuck her tongue out at her, though her grin didn't falter. "Whatever, Éponine. I'm just glad the Academy didn't change you much." Suddenly, her expression turned wistful. "Tell me about it," she said. "Was it amazing? Was it everything you thought it would be? And what about you — did you not get commissioned?"

Éponine held up her hands, laughing. "One question at a time, squirt."

Cosette scowled at her. "I've been taller than you for years now, and you're avoiding my questions." She bit her lip. "You _did_ get commissioned, right?"

"Of course I did," Éponine assured her, just a little cocky. "Signed aboard the Dupetit-Thouars." She gave Cosette a mock-salute. "First Mate Thénardier at your service." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "I came to say goodbye." 

For a long moment, Cosette just stared at her, a mix of emotions flashing across her face and making her look even younger than she was. Then she forced a smile onto her face. "Well, you're not shipping off this moment. Invite me inside and I'll tell you about the battle that I saw in the sky!"

Éponine raised an eyebrow at her. "A battle?" she said, a little skeptically. "Is this another one of your imaginary Rebel battles? I keep telling you, the Revolution is a long way from here."

Cosette's chin stuck out as she protested, "It was real, I swear!"

 Laughing, Éponine steered Cosette inside.

* * *

 

“—So I cut shut down the backburners but I was still coming in hot. I had asked permission to buzz the tower but had been denied — they said the pattern was full. Still, I couldn’t stop. I thought I was going to fry my instruments. So I zoomed past, real quick turned the ship around and landed the thing without getting a scratch on it. Only damage done was to my commander’s pants — he spilled his java all over himself!” Both girls laughed, but Éponine quickly sobered up, something like concern flitting across her face. “But enough about me — how have you been doing?”

Cosette shrugged, her smile fading slightly as she looked away from Éponine. “Sometimes I feel like I’m never going to get away,” she admitted softly, her expression growing distant. “When I’m stuck out on the farm or even when I’m flying my skyhopper through the canyon. It’s been the same thing for as long as I can remember.” She looked down, a slight blush creeping over her cheeks. “I used to pretend that someone would come take me away — a smiling lady, dressed all in white. But then my dreams turn dark and she’s suddenly dressed in black and all I can think of is how this planet bends to the demands of Thénardier the Hutt and how nothing I do ever seems good enough.”

Shaking her head, Cosette forced a smile onto her face. “But then I remember that I’ll be leaving soon, going to the Academy like you, getting signed to a ship, and blasting off from this rock.”

She glanced over at Éponine, unsurprised to see that her friend was smiling, though at least her smile was gentle. “Like I said, you haven’t changed a bit. Your head always was up in the clouds — or up in your city in the clouds, or whatever it was you used to daydream about.”

Though Cosette blushed even deeper, she said stubbornly, “It’s a _castle_ in the clouds, thank you very much.”

Éponine just laughed. “Ah, how I missed that. And you.”

Cosette shrugged. “Things haven’t been the same since you left, Ép,” she said sincerely. “It’s been so...quiet.”

“Leaving aside the implications of my volume control or lack thereof,” Éponine said dryly, though something on her face changed and she glanced around as if they might be overheard, “I didn’t just come back just to say goodbye. You’re the only one that I can trust, and if for some reason I don’t come back…”

She broke off, and Cosette stared at her, wide-eyed. “What are you talking about?” she asked, her voice higher-pitched than usual.  

Again Éponine glanced around, and her voice was pitched low and urgent as she told Cosette, “I made some friends at the Academy, and when our ship gets to one of the central systems—” her voice dropped even lower “—we’re going to jump ship and join the Revolution.”

Cosette gaped at her, completely speechless. Her mouth opened and closed comically a few times before managing, in a croaking voice, “Join the Revolution? Are you kidding? How?”

Though she didn’t say it, the question “ _Why_ ” seemed to hang in the air between them, and Éponine’s eyes narrowed. “I spent my entire childhood and adolescence in service of the Thénardiers,” she said, her voice rough, “and I’ll be damned if I wait around for the Empire to draft me into service. The Revolution is spreading and I want to be on the side I believe in. Besides—” and now her face flushed and she couldn’t seem to meet Cosette’s eyes “—there’s this guy…”

Rolling her eyes, Cosette said in a disgusted voice, “You’re doing this for a boy?”

“Of course not,” Éponine snapped, though without much heat. “Besides, just because _you_ wouldn’t notice any guys or girls or sentient humanoid beings doesn’t mean the rest of us are so disinterested…”

Cosette wasn’t listening, her expression tightening. “So you’re going to join the Revolution and I’m stuck here.”

Éponine cocked her head slightly. “I thought you were going to the Academy next term. You’ll have your chance to get off this rock.”

“Not likely,” Cosette scoffed, her expression dark. “I had to cancel my application. The unrest among the Chiffonistes has gotten worse, and not even Petit-Picpus has been safe. And Uncle Fauchelevent has enough vaporators to pay off, but that means that he needs me for at least one more season.”

“First it’s one more season, then two, then you’re stuck here for the rest of your life,” Éponine pointed out evenly. “And what good is all your uncle’s work if it’s taken over by the Empire? They say that the Empire’s is nationalizing trade in the central systems — it won’t be long before your uncle is merely slaving away for the greater glory of the Empire.”

Cosette just shook her head, doubt etched in her every feature. “My uncle took me in when I had no one else,” she reminded Éponine softly. “I owe him that much.” Éponine shrugged, clearly not convinced, and Cosette nudged her companionably. “Besides, you said it yourself, the Revolution is a long way from here, and so is the attention of the Empire.”

Éponine shook her head as well. “Things can always change.”

Now Cosette shot Éponine a dazzling, mischievous grin. “But not in my castle on a cloud.”

Rolling her eyes, Éponine shoved Cosette, who laughed and shoved Éponine back. Anything serious they might have discussed disappeared as they both laughed and pushed at each other, glad for the temporary reprieve from reality.

* * *

 

“We seem to be made to suffer,” the gold robot said gloomily, its shuffling steps kicking up dust the same color as its dull plating as it and its companion slowly made their way from the escape pod. They were a little dented, just adding to the years of dents, bumps and scars, but both had made it through to land ...on whatever planet this was. “It’s our lot in life.”

Q4 seemed far more optimistic than its companion, beeping almost happily as they chugged along, and the gold droid shot it a look. “I don’t know what’s got you in such a cheerful state,” it said stiffly. “We don’t have any idea where we are or where we’re going.”

Whistling again, Q4 turned slightly, and its companion stopped. “Where are you going?” it asked. “This way is much smoother and less rocky, and my joints are freezing up as it is.” Q4 just chirped in response. “What makes you think there are settlements over there?”

Now Q4 let out a long string of whistles and beeps, but its companion brushed it off. “Don’t get technical on me,” it warned, and when Q4 continued to whistle, scoffed, “What mission? You have no idea what you are talking about. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were destined for the scrap heap. Just because you gave me a place to stay with you once upon a time—”

Q4 squeaked indignantly and turned its back on the gold droid, rather pointedly wheeling away, a stubborn set to its three legs. For a moment, its companion just stared after it, a little disappointed, but quickly regrouped enough to shout, “Well don’t let me catch you following me begging for help, because you won’t get it.” Q4 made a noise that its companion wouldn’t dare to translate into Galactic Standard.

“No more adventures,” the gold robot said, to itself more than anything else, and sighed. It was a deep sigh, a worldly sigh, the kind that contained, in many ways, the weight of a galaxy and a lifetime of misfortunate events. And with that, it turned and trudged in the opposite direction of its companion.

* * *

 

If it had previously seemed like the gold droid was bearing the weight of the galaxy on its previously shiny and now sand-dusted shoulders, that was nothing compared to a few hours from then, as its steps slowed to what could charitably be considered a crawl.

“Curse Q4,” it said, without any real heat, mostly because it remember far too well the number of times when Q4 had saved its circuits. “It tricked me into going this way, I know it did — but it’ll do no better.”

Still, it hardly seem convinced, instead swiveling around miserably as if about to consider an alternate course. Instead, it caught sight of what appeared to be a glint of metal in the distance. “A transport!” it cheered, though it was too far away to be distinguishable. “Over here!”

It waved its arms wildly, the sun glinting off of its metal plating more visible than its stiff movements. “Help, please!” It sighed happily before adding, with just a touch of melodrama, “I’m saved!”

* * *

 

“I’m doomed.”

The gold robot stood amid the other captured droids, most of which seemed to be milling about, all unsure of their fates, but none was quite as glum or as convinced of its impending end than the gold droid. Suddenly, a familiar beeping sounded, and it perked up. “Q4! It is you!”

The smaller robot chirped as it wheeled up, and the gold robot didn’t even hesitate before giving it a slightly awkward and metallic hug. “Have you found a place to recharge?” it asked, before adding, “And may I come recharge with you?”

Had it eyes to roll, Q4 undoubtedly would have. Instead, it beeped reassuringly and led its companion to a quieter corner. The gold robot slowly sank onto the ground next to it. “Oh, Q4,” it sighed. “What are we going to do now?”

* * *

 

The whiteclad stormtroopers of the Galactic Guard stood out against the shifting sands that had already half-buried the empty escape pod. One beckoned his commander over, pointing to tracks on the ground. “Someone was in the pod,” he reported. “The tracks go off in this direction.”

A second trooper bent and picked up a piece of metal from the ground, examining it closely before telling the commander, “Look, sir — droids.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does it bother anyone else that Uncle Fauchelevent is trafficking stolen goods and participating in a black market economy? No? I won't mention it, then. In other news, Cosette has a bit of teenage angst and Q4 has a bit of a malfunction that gives our heroine a bit of a surprise. Lots of bits happening here.

Cosette woke before both suns had crept over the horizon, escaping out into the field of moisture evaporators and staring at the sky until she could no longer clearly see it, imagining that she saw Éponine’s ship take off as it was meant to at some point that morning. 

She had wanted to go into Petit-Picpus to see Éponine off in person, but her uncle had put his foot down. “You can waste time with your friends later,” he had told her the night before over soup, barely paying any attention to what she had been saying.

Waste time with her friends — of course that was how her uncle saw it.

Cosette didn’t want to be bitter because Uncle Fauchelevent was such a _nice_ man, and he had taken her in when she had no one. With only the dimmest recollection of her mother and no inkling of her father, Cosette had arrived unannounced at Uncle Fauchelevent and Aunt Simplice’s door. She didn’t know how she had gotten there, and had little idea of where she had been before, but none of that mattered -- her aunt and uncle had taken her in just the same.

And while Cosette would always be grateful for that, she couldn’t help but daydream, even now, the second sun just hovering at the edge of the horizon before dawn, of a laughing woman dressed all in white and a soft voice telling her, “Cosette, I love you very much.” 

But then the sun struck her face and she shook her head, blinking against the light, the dream lost to the ever-shifting sands, and she turned away as she heard Uncle Fauchelevent calling her name.

* * *

 

“We’re doomed,” the gold robot said, its voice low, as it trailed after Q4. They were prodded along by the small, ragged creatures that had captured them — the Paysans, they were called, and from what little they had gleaned during their captivity, they were junkers and traders of sorts. All of which meant— “We’ll be melted down for sure.”

Instead, they were led outside of the massive transport and arranged in a crude line as Fauchelevent and Cosette, her shoulders slumped, trudged up to meet them. Cosette squinted at the line of dented, scratched droids, and was about to comment on them to her uncle when she heard a shout from the house behind her, and turned back around. “Cosette, remind your uncle that if he gets a translator to be sure it speaks WATBOL.”

Cosette cast a skeptical eye at the line of droids before telling her aunt doubtfully, “It doesn’t look like we’ll have much of a choice, but I’ll tell him.”

She jogged back to her uncle, who was beginning to stroll down the line, inspecting the droids. He paused in front of the gold droid. “You there,” he said, his voice rough, “what’s your name?”

“I am MAR-E-S, sir, human-cyborg relations,” it said, a lilt of pride in its voice.

Fauchelevent snorted. “I have no need for a protocol droid,” he said, starting to move on, but MAR-E-S stopped him.

“Certainly not in an environment like this, sir, but I’ve been programmed with over thirty secondary functions that—”

“What I really need is a droid that understands the computer language of moisture vaporators,” Fauchelevent interrupted.

MAR-E-S seemed delighted. “Why, sir — my first job was programming binary load lifters, very similar to your vaporators. You could say—”

It was Cosette’s turn to interrupt the gold droid. “Do you speak WATBOL?”

Turning slightly towards her, MAR-E-S inclined its head. “Of course I can, sir, it’s like a second language for me. I’m as fluent in WATBOL as--”

“All right, shut up,” Fauchelevent said amiably before telling one of the Paysans, “I’ll take this one.”

Cosette wandered further down the line, examining the other units, looking for more of a repair droid than communicator. She skipped right over Q4, who beeped sadly, and instead indicated to another Paysans that they would take a sleeker PARNASSE model. MAR-E-S looked down at Q4. “Well, I suppose this is the end,” it said matter-of-factly. Q4 whistled sadly. “Well, don’t get all emotional on me. You’ll overheat your circuits, and you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

With that heartfelt goodbye done, MAR-E-S trailed after Cosette and Fauchelevent as they headed back to their settlement, accompanied by the sleek black PARNASSE model. Just once MAR-E-S paused, glancing back at Q4, who was whistling and squeaking loudly until frozen with a blast from the Paysans’ electric prods; MAR-E-S quickly turned back, unable or unwilling to watch its oldest friend dragged back to the transport.

Suddenly, the PARNASSE droid froze, sparks shooting off of its black head. “Uncle Fauchelevent!” Cosette yelped, alarmed, and her uncle turned to look, scowling at the droid.

“What’re you trying to push on us?” he snapped at the nearest Paysan, who let out a long string of unintelligible paysanese. 

MAR-E-S made a robotic noise that could be generously considered throat-clearing. “Excuse me, sir,” it said to Cosette, who raised an eyebrow at it. “That Q4 unit is in prime condition and should fulfill your needs.”

“Uncle Fauchelevent!” Cosette called, and when he threw her an irritated look, nodded towards Q4, who was suddenly on model behavior. “What about that Q4 unit?”

Fauchelevent cast a wary eye at Q4, who whistled innocently, and shrugged. “We’ll take that one,” he told the Paysan in a tone that brooked no argument, then got out his credits to pay for the two droids.

Q4 was quick to join Cosette and MAR-E-S, who patted Q4’s head a little too hard, the gold casing over its hand clanging hollowly against Q4’s domed head. “Don’t you forget this! Why I would stick my neck out for you—” Q4 chirped and MAR-E-S switched it attention to Cosette. “I’m sure you’ll be quite pleased with this one, sir,” it said, a threatening edge to its voice that Cosette didn’t notice, but which made Q4 stop chirping. “I’ve worked with it before, and it really is quite a helpful little fellow.”

The word ‘helpful’ was edged sharp enough to slice bread, and Q4 let out a sullen beep as Cosette just laughed. “I’m sure you’ll both be useful,” she said reassuringly, glancing over at her uncle and sighing. “Well, I better take you inside and get you cleaned up. It’s what Uncle Fauchelevent would want.”

“Do you always do what your uncle wants?” MAR-E-S asked, trailing after Cosette as they headed toward a garage.

Had it come from a human, the question might have seemed rude or pointed, but from MAR-E-S, with an innocence to its query, it was an honest question. Cosette sighed again. “So it would seem.”

* * *

 

“Thank the Maker,” MAR-E-S sighed as it slipped its golden form into a hot oil bath to clean and loosen its joints. “I’m not used to a planet such as this. It’s quite dusty.”

Q4 beeped happily from where it was plugged in and recharging, the multicolored lights on its dome blinking slowly.

Cosette ignored them both, fiddling with a damaged circuit board from an evaporator that she was meant to be fixing, her mind far away, with Éponine up somewhere in space, or just somewhere far away from the dimly lit garage.

Suddenly, she hurled the circuit board at the wall in frustration. “It just isn’t fair!” she burst, and both MAR-E-S and Q4 stared at her. She sank down onto a workbench, running a shaking hand through her hair. “Éponine is right,” she muttered. “At this rate I’m never going to get out of here.”

She sounded thoroughly miserable, and MAR-E-S was silent for a moment before asking tentatively, “Is there anything I might do to help?”

Cosette glanced up at it, a small smile tugging at her lips in spite of herself at the robot’s genuine desire to help. “Unless you can alter time, speed up the harvest, teleport me off this rock or make me feel less guilty for being ungrateful about the people who took me in when I had no one, I’m afraid not.”

“I don’t think so, sir,” MAR-E-S said seriously, not quite getting Cosette’s sarcasm. “I’m only a translator and not very knowledgeable about such things. Not on this planet, anyways — and to be honest, I’m not even sure what planet we’re on.”

Laughing dryly, Cosette grabbed a rag off the bench and stood, crossing over to Q4 to begin wiping it down. “Well, if there’s a bright center of the universe, you’re on the planet that it’s farthest from.”

Despite her best efforts, bitterness crept into her voice, and MAR-E-S was silent for a moment, obviously trying to work through what Cosette had said, before saying, a little cluelessly, “I see, sir.”

Now Cosette laughed for real, a delighted peal that seemed to perk MAR-E-S up as much as the oil bath. “You can call me Cosette,” she told it.

MAR-E-S inclined its head. “I see, sir Cosette.”

“Just Cosette,” she told it.

Q4 chirped a response that MAR-E-S ignored, gazing solely at Cosette. “And I am MAR-E-S,” it told her, pronouncing its make similar to ‘Marius’. “Translator, human-cyborg relations, and protocol droid. And that is my counterpart, Q4-RAC.”

Now Q4 whistled lowly, and Cosette laughed, scratching its domed head. “Nice to meet you, too,” she assured it. She continued rubbing Q4 down, paying special attention to the various dents and dings across Q4’s silver body. “You’ve got a lot of carbon scoring here,” she said, more to herself than anything. “It looks like you’ve seen a lot of action.”

“You wouldn’t believe the half of it,” MAR-E-S said eagerly, obviously eager to show off for Cosette, while Q4 gave a disparaging beep. “Sometimes I’m amazed we’re in as good of condition as we are, what with the Revolution and all.”

Cosette’s eyes flashed up to it, and she almost dropped her rag in surprise. “You know about the Revolution against the Empire?” she asked.

Had MAR-E-S been able to, it might have puffed out its chest as it bragged, “That’s how we came to be in your service, if you take my meaning.”

Though Q4 let out a noise like a deflating balloon, Cosette ignored it, hooked on MAR-E-S’s words. “Have you been in many battles?” she asked eagerly, with the kind of youthful innocence that thinks only of adventure and not the body count that often follows from said battles.

As if it had just realized the same thing, MAR-E-S sagged slightly, something passing over its frozen expression. “Several, I think,” it said, tone entirely different from earlier. “Actually, there’s not much to tell. I’m nothing more than an interpreter, and I’ve never been very good at telling stories.”

For a moment it looked as if Cosette might quiz him further, but then she shrugged moodily and turned back to Q4, frowning at its input slot. “You’ve got something jammed in here,” she said, running her fingers over it with one hand while groping blindly behind her for a pair of pliers to help get whatever it was stuck in there out. “Were you on a cruiser?” she asked MAR-E-S as she carefully grasped whatever was stuck in Q4 with the pliers. “Or were you—”

Without warning, the piece of metal gave way, sending Cosette flying backwards and landing on her butt. Equally without warning, Q4 projected a three-dimensional hologram of a tall blond man, the image wavering slightly as it said in a firm but slightly desperate voice, “Help me, Jean Valjean. You’re my only hope.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette ponders who Jean Valjean may be - and if he's somehow related to Mayor Madeleine, since "Valjean" and "Madeleine" sound _so_ similar - MAR-E-S is confused by droid and human alike, and Q4 makes a run for it.

“Help me, Jean Valjean. You’re my only hope.”

Cosette stared at the apparition, curiosity mingled with confusion on her face. “What the heck is that?” she asked.

“A valid question,” MAR-E-S assured her, as Q4 whistled cheerfully. MAR-E-S smacked the back of Q4’s head. “What is what? You rusted bucket of bolts — she asked you a question! What is _that_!”

It gestured toward the hologram which was repeating its plea over and over. “Help me, Jean Valjean. You’re my only hope.”

Despite the rather urgent tone of the hologram’s voice, Q4 was casual when it beeped its response to MAR-E-S, who shrugged its golden shoulders as it turned back to Cosette. “Q4 says it’s nothing, sir. Merely a malfunction, or old data. Pay no attention to it.”

Cosette was too busy staring at the hologram to notice that MAR-E-S had reverted to calling her ‘sir’, a wrinkle furrowing her brow. “Who is he?” she asked, sounding intrigued, though the tone of her voice implied an almost clinical curiosity, rather than an interest born by the man’s impeccable cheekbones and strong jaw. “He looks...familiar.”

Q4 remained silent and MAR-E-S shrugged again. “I’m not quite sure,” it admitted, a slightly sullen tone to its voice, as if it hated not knowing. “He was a passenger on our last voyage, a person of some importance, sir — I believe. Our captain was attached to—”

“Is there more to the recording?” Cosette asked abruptly, in a way that said she hadn’t been listening to a word MAR-E-S had said.

She reached out for Q4, who jerked back, squealing wildly. MAR-E-S scolded, “Behave yourself, Q4! You’re going to get us into trouble. You can trust her — she’s our new master.”

Rather than being reassured by MAR-E-S’s words, Q4 rocked back and forth while beeping frantically. “What’s it saying?” Cosette asked, her hand still hovering in front of Q4 before it fell back to her side.

MAR-E-S shook its head slowly. “I’m not sure what Q4 is talking about,” it said slowly. “It keeps going on about this Jean Valjean, saying he is Q4’s master, and that the hologram is a private message for him. I don’t know who Q4 means — our old master was captain of the ship we were on.”

Cosette’s gaze was distant. “Jean Valjean...I wonder if Q4 means old Mayor Madeleine…”

MAR-E-S stared at her. “Forgive me, sir, but the idiosyncrasies of human humor sometimes escape me. What makes you think ‘Jean Valjean’ would indicate ‘Mayor Madeleine’ — the two sound nothing alike.”

Shaking her head, Cosette rocked back on her heels. “It’s...it’s just a feeling that I have,” she murmured, her eyes unfocused. “I can’t explain it…” She trailed off, then shook her head again, standing up. “Well, I don’t know anyone named Jean Valjean, but Mayor Madeleine lives out beyond M____-sur-M__. I haven’t seen him in years — he’s something of a recluse.”

She turned her gaze back to the hologram, still repeating his missive, and frowned. “I wonder who he is. He sounds like he’s in trouble — I better play back the whole thing just to be safe.”

Q4 chirped and MAR-E-S cocked its head slightly. “Q4 says the restraining bolt has short-circuited its recording system. It suggests that if you remove the bolt, it might be able to play back the entire recording.”  
  
For a brief moment, Cosette hesitated, then shrugged. “Well, I guess you’re too small to run off on me if I remove this.” She carefully pried the restraining bolt from Q4’s silvery surface. “And there you go.”

Immediately, the hologram disappeared, and Cosette frowned. “Where’d he go?” she demanded. “Bring him back and play the entire message!”

Q4 whistled innocently and MAR-E-S smacked its domed head again. “What message? The one we’ve just been listening to for the past ten minutes!”

As Q4 just continued its know-nothing whistling, a voice called from another room. “Cosette? Come in for dinner!”

Cosette groaned and glared at Q4. “I’ll be right there, Aunt Simplice!” she called, scowling at the suddenly silent Q4. “See what you can do with it,” she commanded MAR-E-S, who nodded.

“I’m sorry, sir, that he appears to have picked up a bit of a flutter.”

“It’s not your fault,” Cosette reassured him as she crossed out of the room.

Still, MAR-E-S glared at Q4 as if Cosette was placing full blame on it. “Just you reconsider playing that message,” it said threateningly, as Q4 just beeped in response. “No, I don’t think she likes you very much at all,” it said dismissively, and when Q4 beeped again, it was slightly sad. “No, I don’t like you very much right now either.”

* * *

  
  
Cosette slid into the chair at the kitchen table, silently accepting a glass of water from her aunt and only weakly returning her aunt’s smile. “Sorry I’m late,” she said.

“It’s fine, dear,” Aunt Simplice reassured her, while Uncle Fauchelevent took a sip of his water before asking, “Were those droids giving you any trouble?”

For a moment, Cosette considered just not saying anything, moodily pushing her food around her plate. But then she decided that in this instance, honestly might help. “Not trouble, per se,” she said slowly. “But I think that Q4 unit we bought might be stolen.”

Fauchelevent looked at her closely. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, I stumbled across a recording while I was cleaning. He says he belongs to—” she hesitated again, this time because she didn’t want to have to explain her feeling that the little droid meant M. Madeleine when it clearly had stated Valjean “—to someone called Jean Valjean,” she finished lamely, honesty having again won out.

There was a brief silence as Fauchelevent stared down at his plate, his expression unreadable. “Well,” he said after a long moment, “I want you to take that Q4 unit into Petit-Picpus and have its memory wiped. That’ll be the end of it. It belongs to us now.”

Cosette blinked at him, startled by his tone, which had grown angry as he spoke. “But what if this Valjean comes looking for him?”

“He won’t,” Fauchelevent said shortly, and when Cosette just stared at him, added in a softer tone, “I don’t think he exists anymore. He died about the same time as your mother.”

“He knew my mother?” Cosette asked quietly, a look of longing flashing across her face.

Fauchelevent shook his head. “Forget it,” he told her, not unkindly. “Your only concern is getting those two droids ready for tomorrow. In the morning I want them on the south ridge working on those condensers.”  
  
Cosette bit back to the urge to remind her uncle that Q4 couldn’t be out on the south ridge if she was meant to take it to get its memory wiped, but instead said meekly, “Yes sir.”

Uncomfortable silence fell over the table, and Cosette pushed her food around some more before throwing all caution to the wind and saying, almost desperately, “I was thinking about our agreement for me to stay on for one more season, and I think that if these droids do work out, I want to submit my application to the Academy this year.”

Fauchelevent frowned. “You mean the next semester?” he asked. “Before the harvest?”

Cosette could already tell from his tone of voice that this was not going to go in her favor, but nonetheless told him, “There’ll be more than enough droids, you won’t need—”

“Harvest is when I need you most,” Fauchelevent reminded her, something almost gentle in his tone. “It’s only one more season. We’ll be able to hire more hands after this harvest and then you can go to the Academy next year.” Cosette stared at the grain of the table, tears pricking in her eyes, and Fauchelevent sighed. “You know that I need you here.”

Shrugging, Cosette said, in a voice almost so quiet that she couldn’t be heard, “But it’s a whole year more.”  
  
Fauchelevent sighed again. “It’s only one more season. Look,” he said kindly, obviously trying to mend things between them, “next time the traders come through, I’ll get you a protocol droid all your own, a sort of maid. That’ll make things a little easier for you.”

A small smile quirked across Cosette’s face, though it quickly disappeared. “What do I need a maid for? Don’t I have MAR-E-S?” Then, abruptly, she stood.

“Where are you going?” Simplice asked.

“It looks like I’m going nowhere,” Cosette snapped before taking a deep breath, forcing herself to add in a much more pleasant tone, “I have to finish getting the droids ready.”

With that, she slumped off toward the garage. Simplice sighed and frowned at Fauchelevent. “She’s can’t stay here forever, you know,” she remarked conversationally. “As much as we want to keep her here, keep her a child—”

Fauchelevent shook his head, his expression sad. “I’ll make it up to her next year,” he muttered.

Simplice tsked and stood, clearing the plates from the table, including the one that Fauchelevent was still eating from, and he scowled at her, met by her raised eyebrow and cool look. “Cosette’s not a farmer, and she’s never going to be. She’s got too much of her mother in her.”

Fauchelevent sighed and shook his head, glancing after Cosette before meeting Simplice’s gaze squarely. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

* * *

 

Cosette paused outside, blinking at the twin suns slowly setting, the one closest to the horizon a bloody red, the one hanging higher in the sky a dark orange. She had seen this sight every night of her life for as long as she could remember, but for some reason, it had never felt like home.

And she had spent more time than she could possibly explain dreaming of what was home.

She had known better than to hope that Fauchelevent would change his mind — in addition to the practical reasons of needing her help, he was very protective of her — but hope was something that just always came easy to Cosette. No matter how she tried to tamp it down, hope always wormed its way through.

But this time — this time she was wondering if hope was worth it.

Sighing heavily, she turned her back on the suns and headed into the garage, surprised that the lights were off and the droids were nowhere to be found. “Q4?” she called, flipping the lights on and taking a step forward. “MAR-E-S?”

There was no answer. Frowning, she grabbed a control box and flipped a switch, sending an electric pulse into the nearby area. MAR-E-S popped up from behind a crate, holding both its hands in the air as a sign of surrender. “Why are you hiding?” Cosette asked, stepping closer to him.

“It wasn’t my fault, sir,” MAR-E-S said, its voice quavering. “Please don’t deactivate me. I told Q4 not to go, but it’s faulty, malfunctioning — it kept babbling on about its mission…” 

In an instant, Cosette understood, and she groaned loudly, turning on heel to dart out of the garage, grabbing a pair of binoculars as she went. She took the stairs two at a time and, once outside, scanned the horizon for any sign of the little domed droid. “That Q4 unit has always been a problem,” MAR-E-S informed her once it joined her outside. “Even I can’t understand the logic of these astrodroids at time.”

Cosette ignored him. “How could I be so stupid?” she growled, lowering the binoculars. “Q4 is no where in sight!”

Defeated, she turned back to the garage, but MAR-E-S tapped her on the shoulder. “Pardon me, sir, but shouldn’t we go after it?”

“It’s too dangerous,” Cosette said, her voice dull. “There’s all kinds of things that come out at night. We’ll have to wait until morning.”

“Cosette, I’m shutting the power down!” Fauchelevent called up, and Cosette groaned.

She strode back toward the garage, MAR-E-S trailing after her. “My uncle’s going to kill me,” she said grimly, glancing over at MAR-E-S. “That little droid is going to cause me a lot of trouble.”

MAR-E-S nodded sagely. “Oh, Q4 excels at that, sir.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette finds Q4, Q4 finds Valjean, and Valjean ends up carrying MAR-E-S through the M____-sur-M__ wastes on his back, which may or may not be easier than carrying a grown ass man through the Parisian sewers. The world may never know.

The twin suns rose to a hazy morning, their hue tinged pink as they hung heavily in the horizon. Fauchelevent peered into the empty garage, frowning. “Cosette?” he called, to no answer, before asking himself, “Where is she now?” 

He headed toward the kitchen, kissing Simplice on the cheek in a distracted way before asking her, brow furrowed, “Have you seen Cosette this morning?”

Simplice waved him away with one, stirring the pot of porridge she was making on the stove with the spoon in her other. “She left early today, said she wanted to get a head start on things,” she reported.

Fauchelevent harrumphed, sitting down at the table. “Well, did she at least have those two droids with her?”

Simplice gave him a look that implied that she had better things to do than report on her niece’s every movement. “I think so,” she said, the patience in her voice wearing thin.

Harrumphing again, Fauchelevent started to say something, caught the look on Simplice’s face, and promptly changed his mind, instead grumbling, “Well, she’d better have those two droids up on the south ridge or there’ll be hell to pay.”

* * *

 

The landspeeder zipped over the desert sand and rock, turned a uniform blur by the speed of the craft. MAR-E-S perched next to Cosette, who was steering the vehicle with only one hand -- the set of MAR-E-S’s shoulders suggested it would rather that Cosette steered with both. “Madeleine lives somewhere out this way,” Cosette told MAR-E-S over the whir of the speeder. “But I don’t see how that little droid could have made it out this far. The scanners must not have picked up its reading earlier. We’ll have to turn around.” She glanced up at the positions of the suns. “And my uncle is seriously going to murder me.” 

“If it helps, sir, you can tell him it was all my fault,” MAR-E-S told her, sounding miserable.

Cosette shot him a grin. “Sure — he needs you, after all. You’d probably only be deactivated for a day or two at most…”

MAR-E-S made a disparaging noise before saying delicately, “Then again, sir, if you don’t mind my saying, you never should have removed Q4’s restraining bolt…”

Laughing, Cosette started to turn the speeder around to return to the homestead when the scanner pinged. She glanced over at it and instantly brightened. “There’s something dead ahead and it looks like it might just be our little Q4 unit!” 

The speeder accelerated before pulling to a stop next to Q4, who was determinedly trekking through a dusty canyon. “Hey, whoa, hang on,” Cosette called, leaping out of the speeder and kneeling down in front of Q4. “Just where do you think you’re off to?” 

Q4 whistled and made as if to go around Cosette, but MAR-E-S stopped it. “Master Cosette is your rightful owner,” it scolded, crossing its arms in front of its chest. “Don’t talk to me about this ‘mission’ of yours. You’re fortunate Cosette doesn’t blast you into a million pieces right here.”

Cosette hid a smile — she was beginning to like MAR-E-S’s frequent hyperbole and slightly pompous attitude. “It’s getting late,” she told them both. “If we get going now, we might actually make it back before Fauchelevent decides to have you melted down for scrap metal.”

Q4 let out a beep that could best be described as rude, but MAR-E-S took the threat to heart. “If you don’t mind me suggesting, sir, I think you should deactivate Q4 until we get back to the garage.”

Squealing indignantly, Q4 rolled over MAR-E-S’s toe, causing the gold-plated droid to yelp. Now Cosette couldn’t hide her laughter, though she quickly sobered as she glanced up at the suns. “I don’t think Q4 is going to try anything.”

Suddenly, Q4 whistled and beeped loudly, and both MAR-E-S and Cosette stared at it, startled. “What’s going on?” Cosette asked, alarmed.

MAR-E-S gasped. “Sir, Q4 says there are creatures approaching from the southeast! We’ll be trapped in this canyon.”

Surprisingly, this put Cosette at ease, and she stood, crossing over to the landspeeder and grabbing her rifle from it. “Probably Chiffonistes,” she said, almost cheerfully. “Let’s take a look, shall we?” 

MAR-E-S trailed after Cosette as she took a trail up to the top of the canyon. “If you don’t mind my asking sir, but as a non-native, perhaps you could tell me what exactly a Chiffoniste is?”

“They’re a nomadic people, very territorial and willing to attack at the slightest provocation. But the settlements have worked out arrangements with them and they’re generally harmless unless you’re on their land.” She gave MAR-E-S a devilish grin. “And for better or for worse, Q4 led us directly onto Chiffoniste land.”

She was about to elaborate when, suddenly, a Chiffoniste appeared on the path directly in front of them, letting out a ferocious warble. MAR-E-S let out a shriek and immediately lost its footing, tumbling down to the canyon below. Cosette stared unflinchingly at the three-eyed, shaggy-furred creature in front of her, ready to stand her ground. The Chiffoniste swung his staff over his head, and Cosette barely had time to react before he brought it whistling down towards her.

Still, somehow, almost miraculously, her reflexes kicked in at the last possible second, and she brought her rifle up to catch the brunt of the blow on the rifle. It worked, to an extent, but the force of the blow pushed her back a few steps, and she almost lost her balance and went the way of MAR-E-S. 

Instead, she managed to regain her footing, and with an almost superhuman grace, she leapt over the head of the Chiffoniste, which let out another warble, whirling on her, but she was ready for it, hitting back with the butt of her blaster. She managed to land a blow, and possibly could have kept on fighting, if it wasn’t for the second Chiffoniste who arrived behind her and hit her on the head. She crumpled to the ground and the last thing she saw before everything went black was the Chiffonistes raising their staffs in triumph.

* * *

 

Q4 peered around the boulder it was currently hiding behind, beeping almost mournfully to itself as it watched the Chiffonistes drop Cosette unceremoniously on the ground in front of the landspeeder. The two had been joined by more of their kind, and they mostly ignored Cosette, and, further away, lying where it had fallen, MAR-E-S. 

The Chiffonistes were examining the landspeeder and grunting back and forth as they ransacked it when suddenly, they stilled and fell silent.

Q4 ventured out a little further to see a cloaked figure approach from the far end of the canyon. He was a large man, but from what Q4’s biological scanners could tell, elderly. Still, he approached the staring Chiffonistes with no fear, seemingly unarmed.

When he drew closer, the man lifted his hands, still with no weapon visible. A sudden _crack_ echoed through the canyon, and the rock seemed to shake as a portion split and hovered in the air. Q4 whistled in surprise, but the old man seemed unconcerned, merely moving his arms slightly, the boulder following as if he was lifting it, though with no discernible effort on the man's part. 

Then, without warning, he dropped the piece of rock, close enough to the largest of the Chiffonistes to ruffle its fur. They let out barks of indignation, and, glancing only once more at the man, quickly retreated.

For a moment, the old man just stood still. Then he reached up and lowered the hood of his cloak. He was, just as Q4 had suspected, elderly, with a short white beard. His face bore the weight of many years, but he held himself proudly.

Q4 whistled again and the man glanced over at him, his gaze piercing before his expression softened upon seeing the droid. “Hello there,” he called. “There’s no need to be afraid. You can come here.”

Slowly Q4 wheeled over to him, pausing as the man knelt by Cosette’s side. It beeped inquisitively and the man shot him a look. “She’ll be alright,” he said, matter-of-factly. “See, she’s coming around now.”

Sure enough, Cosette blinked slowly and groaned, automatically reaching up for her head. “What happened?” she asked, her voice raspy.

The old man stopped her, his large hand surprisingly gentle. “You’ve had a busy day from the look of it. Not everyone could tussle with a Chiffoniste and live to tell the tale.”

Cosette squinted up at him, sudden realization flashing across his face. “Mayor Madeleine!” she exclaimed, sitting up a little too quickly and wincing, though any discomfort was quickly replaced by excitement. “I’m so glad to see you!”

Madeleine raised an eyebrow at her. “The M____-sur-M__ wastes are not to be traveled lightly. You’re lucky to have made it out in one piece.”

“To be fair, I didn’t exactly come here voluntarily,” Cosette sighed, jerking her head towards Q4. “My droid did a runner during the night. I think it’s looking for its former master, but I’ve never seen this kind of devotion in a droid before.” She glanced over at Madeleine. “He claims to be the property of a Jean Valjean, and while I can’t tell you why, I had the feeling you would know something about that — about him.”

Madeleine went very still, his eyes distant. “Jean Valjean,” he repeated softly, contemplatively. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in quite a long time.”

Cosette licked her lips nervously. “I think my uncle knew him,” she volunteered. “He said he was dead.”

That startled Madeleine out of his reverie, and he laughed slightly, shaking his head. “Oh no, he’s not dead -- not yet anyway.” 

“So you _do_ know him,” Cosette said, relieved more because her weird hunch had been right than anything.

Madeleine laughed again. “Of course I know him — he’s me.” Cosette’s eyes widened and Madeleine — now Valjean, she supposed — shrugged. “I haven’t gone by the name Valjean since—” He hesitated, an odd expression on his face. “Well, since about the time you were born.”

Cosette seemed not to pick up on his sudden shift. “Then Q4 does belong to you.”

Q4 beeped an affirmative, but Valjean frowned. “I don’t believe I’ve ever owned a droid. It’s interesting—” He broke off as a telltale warble broke through the ravine. “We need to get indoors,” he said, standing. “The Chiffonistes are easily startled but they’ll be back — and in greater numbers.”

He bent and lifted Cosette to her feet without any sign of strain. Cosette dusted off her clothes and started to follow Valjean out of the ravine when Q4 beeped wildly, and Cosette groaned, smacking the heel of her hand against her forehead. “I forgot MAR-E-S!”

The golden droid was lying in a jumble and Cosette jogged over to it, sighing heavily as she assessed the damage. “It’s mostly superficial,” she said, more to herself than anything, opening a panel on MAR-E-S’s chest and messing with some of the wiring. “Q4, see if your scanners can pick anything up.”

Q4 beeped an affirmative but before it could even start its scanners, MAR-E-S’s vacant eyes flickered to life and it slowly sat up. “Where am I?” it asked.

“Can you stand?” Cosette asked, choosing not to answer its question.

For a moment, MAR-E-S considered it, then laid back down against the sand. “I don’t think I can make it,” it said mournfully. “You had best go on — there’s no sense in you risking yourself on my account. I’m done for.”

Cosette rolled her eyes. Now was _not_ the time for MAR-E-S’s histrionics. Before she could say anything, though, Valjean bent down and picked MAR-E-S up as if he weighed nothing, slinging him like a sack across his shoulder. “Quickly,” he said, as if he had done absolutely nothing remarkable, even as Cosette gaped at him. “They’re on the move.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette learns the truth about her mother. Well, kind of. Cosette learns _part_ of the truth about her mother, but she won't learn more until Episode V, and then she won't even learn the full truth until Episode VI, so for the moment, we'll just go with Cosette learning the truth about her mother. Ish. Is lying still considered bad if it's to, like, protect someone?

Cosette accepted a steaming cup of tea from Valjean, who sat across from her at the table in his small home, mostly to hide her shaking hands as she tried to digest the story he had just told her. “But my mother couldn’t have fought in the wars,” she said numbly. “She was a navigator on a spice freighter—”

“That’s what your uncle told you,” Valjean said, not unkindly. “He thought it would be easier than trying to explain her involvement. Fauchelevent is a great man, but his expertise lies in the earth, not up in space.”

Though Cosette nodded, her expression was still closed. “So you fought in the wars with my mother?”

Valjean nodded, something odd flitting across his face. “Yes, I was a Jedi Knight just like your mother.”

If anything, that was harder than anything else for Cosette to believe. The stories she had been told of her mother made it sound like the woman had been kind, and gentle — nothing like a soldier or a Jedi. “I wish I had known her,” she said softly, meaning it more now than ever she had.

“She was the best star-pilot in the galaxy, and a cunning warrior,” Valjean said, something like parental pride in his voice, though there was a sadness there as well as he added in a softer voice, “And she was a good friend.” He glanced at Cosette and smiled. “I hear you’re quite the pilot as well, which reminds me, I have something for you.”

He stood, crossing to a well-worn trunk, and Cosette glanced over at Q4 and MAR-E-S. Q4 trilled reassuringly, its electrical arm carefully making adjustments to the wiring in MAR-E-S’s arm. She smiled at them both and turned back to Valjean, who had found was he was looking for, a slim, metallic handle with a black leather grip. “Your mother would’ve wanted you to have this, once you were old enough, but your uncle never allowed it. He’s a peaceful man, and not much taken with weapons. Besides—” Valjean’s grin grew mischievous “—he probably thought if you had it you’d follow Valjean on some idealistic crusade like your mother did.”

Cosette stood and reached out to accept the handle from him, turning it over in her hands, surprised at how well it seemed to fit her grip. “What is it?” she asked, feeling a bit stupid that she didn’t recognize it immediately.”

“A lightsaber,” Valjean told her. “The weapon of a Jedi. Your mother’s lightsaber, to be exact.”

Cosette hesitated for a moment before pressing the button on the side of the handle, her eyes widening as a long, solid beam of light shot out. “It’s purple,” she blurted, having expected either the red or green of blasters as the color.

Valjean arched an eyebrow at her. “Yes, it’s purple. In old the days, the color of a Jedi’s lightsaber had meaning.”

Frowning, Cosette asked, “And what meaning did a purple blade have?” 

For a brief moment, Valjean looked unbearably sad. “Balance,” he said, so quietly that Cosette could barely hear him. Then he smiled as if nothing had happened. “But I think your mother just liked the color.”

Cosette laughed and swung the saber a few times experimentally, listening to it whistle through the air. “Less clumsy and random than a blaster,” Valjean told her, crossing his arms in front of his chest and nodding his approval. “A more civilized weapon for a more civilized time.”

“Before the Empire?” Cosette asked, distracted.

Valjean nodded. “The Jedi were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic. Now…” He shook his head. “Now there is no peace. And certainly no justice.”

Cosette nodded as well, something contemplative on her face, and she pressed the button on the saber handle again, watching as the purple blade disappeared. “How did my mother die?” she asked, assuming the story her uncle had once told her was as much a lie as everything else.

A shadow seemed to cross Valjean’s face, and he turned toward the window, not meeting her eyes. “A young Jedi named Darth Moeder, who was a pupil of mine until she turned to evil, helped the Empire hunt down and destroy the Jedi. She betrayed and murdered your mother. Moeder was seduced by the dark side of the Force.”

“The Force?” Cosette asked, the word feeling unfamiliar in her mouth, yet her fingertips seemed to tingle with a familiar sensation as she said it.

Valjean glanced back at her, looking surprised that she didn’t know what it was. “The Force is…” He paused, a sudden smile breaking across his face. “It’s been so long since I’ve had to explain it, if ever. At its most basic, the Force is an energy field, generated by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us and binds the galaxy together. And a Jedi is able to tap into that energy and use it for good.”

Cosette nodded slowly. “And if a Jedi were to use it for evil?” she asked, suddenly aware of how young she sounded.

Valjean’s smile faded. “That is the dark side of the Force, and a Jedi consumed by the dark side will become a Sith, the enemy of the light.” Cosette’s eyes were wide and Valjean quickly smiled again, dropping into a seat and gesturing for Cosette to join him. “But enough about that for the moment. I believe it’s time we finally see what message your droid brings me.”

Q4 whistled obediently and projected the hologram of the blond man into the center of the room. The man seemed to meet Valjean’s eyes and he spoke in an urgent, clipped tone. “General Valjean, years ago you served with my father General Lamarque. Now he begs you to help him in the struggle against the Empire. I regret that I am unable to present my father’s request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack and I’m afraid my mission to bring you to Saint-Sever has failed. I have placed information vital to the survival of the Revolution into the memory systems of this Q4 unit. My father will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid delivered safely to him on Saint-Sever. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Jean Valjean. You’re my only hope.”  
  
The hologram flickered and disappeared, and silence fell over the group. Cosette stared at where the projection had been, brow furrowed, still trying to figure out how or why the man looked familiar. Valjean leaned back in his seat, his expression contemplative. “You must learn the ways of the Force,” he said, and Cosette frowned at him.

“Why? I doubt I can use it to speed up the harvest or—”

Valjean cut her off. “You must learn the ways of the Force if you’re to come with me to Saint-Sever.”

Cosette stared at him, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she managed to get words out. “I can’t go to Saint-Sever,” she squeaked, her voice higher pitched than usual at the very thought. “I’ve got to get these droids home before my uncle kills me.”  
  
Valjean leaned forward, expression earnest. “I need your help, Cosette.” He gestured at the empty space where the hologram had been. “ _He_ needs your help. I’m getting too old for this sort of thing.”

Snorting, Cosette started to say that Valjean hadn’t seemed old when singlehandedly carrying MAR-E-S, but stopped when she saw the look on his face. “I can’t get involved,” she said quietly, wilting slightly under Valjean’s stare. “It’s not that I like the Empire, but there’s nothing I can do about it right now!” She hesitated before adding in an even softer voice, “It’s so far away from here.”

Shaking his head, Valjean said sternly, “That’s your uncle talking, not you.”

“Yeah, my uncle,” Cosette said, latching on to the topic almost desperately, “the man who has cared for me for as long as I can remember, and who is going to kill me when I finally get back.”

Valjean shook his head again. “You _must_ learn about the Force.”

Cosette just shook her head, looking away from Valjean. “Look, I can take you as far as Petit-Picpus,” she said reluctantly. “You can get transport there to Rue Plumet or wherever you’re going.”

For a moment, it looked as if Valjean was going to argue, but then he nodded slowly. “Of course,” he said smoothly, and unreadable look on his face. “You must do what you think is right.”

* * *

 

The people sitting around the table were dressed in identical uniforms of either slate gray or black; the sole difference was the tabs on their collars and badges on their chests, denoting their rank.

“We are sitting ducks,” one officer proclaimed, sweat beading on his high forehead. “The so-called Revolution is too well-equipped, and with this battle station inoperable, they’re more dangerous than you realize.”

The blonde-haired woman to his left arched an eyebrow at him. “Dangerous to your starfleet, perhaps, Commander. But not to this battle station.”

A third officer interjected, “Support for the Revolution seems to be gaining in the Imperial Senate and will only continue so long as—”

He broke off as the doors to the meeting room swished open and a tall, thin man strolled in, Darth Moeder at his heels, glaring around impressively at the assembled commanders, who stood instantly. “Grand Moff Fameuil,” one muttered, inclining his head.

Fameuil stared impassively around the room before settling in at the head of the table, Darth Moeder standing directly behind him. “The Imperial Senate will no longer be of any concern. I’ve just received word that the Emperor has dissolved the council permanently.”

Murmurs broke out around the table, but the sweating commander burst, “That’s impossible!” Silence fell instantly following this proclamation, and if anything, his sweating grew worse. “I mean — without the bureaucracy, how will the Empire retain control?”

Fameuil straightened, his cold glare fixed solely on the commander. “As governor of the Imperial outland regions, I can tell you that regional governors now have direct control over territories.” He steepled his fingers in front of him. “Are you doubting my ability to maintain control?” The commander swallowed convulsively and shook his head. Fameuil’s gaze swept around the table. “Fear,” he pronounced. “Fear will keep the local systems in line. Fear of this battle station.” 

“And what of the Revolution?” the commander asked, throwing all caution — and common sense — to the wind. “If, as we suspect, the rebels have obtained a complete technical readout of this station, it is possible that they might find a weakness and exploit it.”

Murmurs again broke out across the table, but this time Fameuil did not have to wait for them to subside. From where she lurked behind him, Darth Moeder said gravelly, “The plans you refer to will soon be ours again.”

The female admiral tapped her fingernail against the polished table top. “If I may have leave to speak, any attack against this station would be a pointless gesture. This station is the ultimate power in the universe, and I suggest that now is the time we prove it!”

Moeder let out a derisive snort, sounding downright sinister through her breathing apparatus. “Don’t be too proud of this piece of technology, Admiral Zéphine,” she said haughtily. “The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force.”

The admiral’s lip curled, her eyes hard as she met Moeder’s stare unflinchingly. “Your sad devotion to that ancient religion is what’s insignificant,” she said. “I do not see the Force helping you recover those stolen plans or discover the Revolution’s hidden base—”  
  
She broke off abruptly, hands automatically reaching up to her neck, fingers scrabbling at a sudden, invisible pressure around her neck. She choked and gasped, her skin turning blue. “I find your lack of faith disturbing,” Moeder growled.

For a moment longer, Zéphine struggled in vain, and Fameuil’s cold eyes watched dispassionately until he commanded, “Release her.”

Instantly, the pressure disappeared, and Admiral Zéphine fell back into her chair, coughing and wheezing, color flooding back to her face. If Moeder was disappointed at all, she did not reveal it, merely stepping immediately back into her position behind Fameuil, who rolled his eyes. “This squabbling is moot, as Lady Moeder will undoubtedly have the location of the rebel fortress by the time the station is operational. It will not matter which is more effective as we will instead end the revolution with one swift stroke. Is that understood?”

As one, the commanders at the table inclined their heads and murmured, “Yes sir.”

Fameuil favored them each with a look before standing. “Good. Then get to work.”

* * *

 

“I really am sorry that I can’t help you more,” Cosette shouted over the noise from the speeder as they headed in toward Petit-Picpus. “It’s just that, with the harvest—”

She broke off, and Valjean looked over at her. “I completely understand, and there’s no use feeling down about it,” he reassured her, but she shook her head, looking out at the horizon.

“It’s not that — look!”

Smoldering in the distance was the remains of a Paysan transport, blasted to rubble. “Chiffonistes, do you think?” Cosette asked, changing course to steer the speeder toward the transport.

Valjean shook his head, his expression troubled. “They don’t normally attack something this large, and are on generally decent terms with the Paysans.”

The speeder slowed to a halt and both Cosette and Valjean got out, examining the smoking ruins. “It wasn’t the Chiffonistes,” Valjean said quietly.

Cosette looked at him sharply. “What makes you think that? There’s plenty of evidence—” 

“Look with more than just your eyes,” Valjean told her. He indicated the tracks in the sand leading to and away from the transport. “These tracks are side by side, and Chiffonistes always side in single file to hide their numbers.” Cosette started to retort, then stopped, frowning slightly. “And look at the blast marks,” Valjean continued, pointing at them. “Those are far too precise for the Chiffonistes.”

“If not the Chiffonistes…” Cosette started, a heavy feeling in her chest.

Valjean met her gaze squarely. “Only Imperial stormtroopers are so precise.”

For a moment, Cosette stared at him, suddenly feeling a laugh bubbling up in her throat, though there was nothing funny about the situation. “Stormtroopers?” she said. “Their aim is notoriously bad, so calling them accurate…” She trailed off when Valjean didn’t smile at her joke, and her own smile fell. “But why would stormtroopers want to slaughter Paysans? They’re traders and junkers and—”

She broke off, staring past Valjean at Q4 and MAR-E-S, sudden realization hitting her, and all the blood drained from her face. “The droids,” she whispered, eyes wide. “They were after the droids. And once they realized that the droids were no longer here, that they had been sold—”

Abruptly she turned, running at full speed back to the speeder, her mind far away on the home in which she had grown up, the home to which the stormtroopers would undoubtedly go. She ignored Q4 and MAR-E-S, ignored Valjean calling after her, and sped away in hopes of saving the only people who had ever loved and cared for her.

* * *

  
  
The door to the cell slid open and Prince Enjolras instantly stood, defiance etched on every line of his face. “Well, what’s it to be then?” he asked bracingly. “Torture? Pain?”

He spat the words at the stormtroopers who bracketed the door, neither showing any reaction to them. Darth Moeder ducked into the room with a malevolent swirl of her cape. “No torture, no pain — yet,” she said, and Enjolras glared at her.

“Drawing it out, are we?”

Moeder tilted her head slightly. “To the contrary. I just thought it might be helpful if we...talked first.” The sudden tell-tale drone of a droid echoed through the hallway behind her, and she stepped aside to allow the spherical droid into the room, its hypodermic needle, assumedly armed with a truth-agent, clearly visible. “We will discuss the location of your hidden rebel base.”

The defiance on Enjolras’s face did not fade, but there was a glint of something else in his eyes, something that might be described as fear as the door swished closed behind the droid.

* * *

  
  
It was night by the time Cosette returned to Valjean and the droids. Her face was drawn, eyes red from crying. “They’re dead,” she announced without preamble. “Uncle Fauchelevent and Aunt Simplice. Murdered.”

Valjean did not look surprised, merely resigned. “There’s nothing you could have done if you had been there. They would have killed you and taken the droids.”

“If I was strong in the Force, could I have saved them?” Cosette asked. There was no trace of bitterness in her voice, just hollow sorrow.

It was a long moment before Valjean answered. “If I thought it would give you comfort, I would give you the answer you seek, but whatever comfort it would give would instead lead you on the dangerous path of regret. Instead, I will tell you that with the Force, you will be able to save others from similar fates.”

Cosette stared out at the horizon, her expression and resolve hardening. “I want to come with you to Saint-Sever. There’s nothing here for me now.” She met Valjean’s eyes. “I want to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi like my mother.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire shoots first. That's all you need to know.

The first thing Cosette noticed was the noise. It was loud, deafening even, garbled alien languages at top volume, each competing with the next to be loudest.

The second thing she noticed was the smell.

“Rue Plumet Spaceport,” Valjean told her, a little grimly, as she navigated the speeder between the bustling crowds. “This spaceport and many like it are havens for the poor — but bring with them those who prey on the unfortunate. We must be cautious.”

Cosette half-smiled. “Why, because we’re poor?” 

Valjean didn’t smile. “No. Because we’re vulnerable.” The smile slipped off Cosette’s face and a sober silence settled over them as she continued piloting through the city. Finally, Valjean cleared his throat and pointed toward a small, run-down building. “We’ll start there.”

Just as Cosette had turned to park the speeder, they were flagged down by two bored-looking stormtroopers. Cosette glanced at Valjean, who gave her a small, reassuring smile. “How long have you had these droids?” the first stormtrooper asked, gesturing with his blaster toward Q4 and MAR-E-S.

Valjean didn’t hesitate. “Three or four seasons,” he said easily.

“They’re for sale if you want them,” Cosette added, in what she clearly thought was a helpful way, but the look Valjean gave her suggested that it wasn’t, and she fell silent.

The stormtrooper glanced at both of them. “Let me see your identification.”

Cosette paled, but Valjean said smoothly, perhaps to make up for Cosette earlier, “You don’t need to see her identification.”

For a brief, terrifying moment, it seemed as if the stormtrooper was going to argue. Then he looked at his companion and reported, “We don’t need to see her identification.”

Valjean made a small hand gesture as he added, voice still calm and controlled, “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.”

“These aren’t the droids we’re looking for,” the stormtrooper repeated obediently.

“She can go about her business.”

“Go about your business.”

Cosette chanced a look over at Valjean, who nodded, and carefully pulled away from the stormtroopers, who didn’t spare them a second glance. “I thought we were dead,” she said in a low voice.

Valjean chuckled. “No such luck. The Force can have a strong influence on the weak-minded, and you’ll find it a powerful ally.” He nudged her gently. “But not even the Force can make up for common sense. Never supply more information than required, nor stretch the truth to the point of breaking.”

Though Cosette nodded slowly, the look on her face suggested that she didn’t quite believe him. Still, she let the subject go for the moment, instead turning to the reason they were in Rue Plumet in the first place. “Do you really think we’ll find a pilot who will take us to Saint-Sever?”

“You’d be surprised,” Valjean told her. “Some of the best freighter pilots can be found here, as long as you know where to look.”

“And you know where to look?”

Valjean smiled, a little grimly. “You’d be surprised what I know.”

Cosette shrugged and they both jumped out of the speeder, Q4 and MAR-E-S following. Though Cosette was willing to follow Valjean into the cantina, she couldn’t help but mutter to herself, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Surprisingly, when they got into the cantina, Cosette found that despite the dim light and various colored smoke, the music was pleasant and the crowd not too rough, at least at first glance. However, they had barely taken a step into the bar when the bartender shouted, “Hey — we don’t serve their kind here!” When both Cosette and Valjean just stared at him, he elaborated, “The droids. They’ll have to wait outside.”

Cosette turned to MAR-E-S, who had already turned back towards the door. “It’s no trouble at all sir,” it said cheerfully. “Come along Q4.” Q4 whistled mournfully as it followed MAR-E-S out. “Yes, I’m sure it’s something we’ll mention to the Revolution — droids’ rights.”

Hiding a laugh, Cosette followed Valjean up to the bar. She ordered a drink from the bartender, who still seemed disgruntled, while Valjean went to scope out other bar patrons. Nervous, she glanced at the man to her right, a silent man wearing Mandalorian armor, including a helmet, which didn’t seem conducive to drinking the amber-colored liquid in front of him. “Nice place, huh?”

The man grunted, and Cosette sighed, looking down at her own drink. Still, something about the man caught her attention, and she couldn’t help but watch him out of the corner of her eye. In fact, she realized she was watching him watch someone else, and as casually as she could, she turned to see who the man was staring at with such intensity.

She turned back to the bar, her grip on her drink tightening. When Valjean slid in next to her, she turned to face him and told him in a low voice, “The man next to me has been watching you.”

Valjean barely even glanced at the man in question, a shuttered look on his face. “It’s of no concern,” he said dismissively, before turning to the creature next to him, who Cosette had only noticed then. “This is Joly — or is it Bossuet?”

Cosette looked up — and up — and up until her eyes reached the the face of the impossibly tall, incredibly shaggy _thing_ standing behind Valjean. “Um, hi,” Cosette squeaked, as the creature reached out with a large hand to very gently shake hers.

The creature opened its jaws and let out a terrible sounding growl, and Cosette shrank back. Valjean patted the creature’s shoulder. “It _is_ Joly,” he told Cosette conversationally, as if this was a commonplace occurrence. “He’s a bit insulted — something about insinuating he’s balding.” Joly barked a laugh, and Valjean finally caught the look on Cosette’s face. “Joly’s a Wookiee,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“I see,” Cosette said faintly. “Well, it’s, uh, nice to meet you.”

Joly growled again, but this time Cosette caught what sounded like a slightly positive note in the growl. “Yes, she’s quite pretty, but Bossuet will get jealous if you keep that up,” Valjean told him before turning back to Cosette. “Joly is the first-mate on a ship that might suit our needs.”

* * *

 

Cosette wished she could say that finding out Joly might be able to help them put her more at ease with him, but it didn’t — and it wasn’t helped when they were joined by another Wookiee named Bossuet, who was unfortunately losing fur from the top of his head. Cosette wasn’t quite sure what the relationship was between Bossuet and Joly, seeing as how they communicated in nothing more than growls, barks and howls, but they were obviously quite close.

What was clear, however, was that Bossuet was not the captain of the ship in question, and she shifted in the booth, glancing around. “Where is this captain?” she asked.

“Right here,” a voice said, and Cosette’s eyes snapped on to the man who slid in next to Bossuet. “Grantaire. Nice to meet you.” 

He was younger than she expected, and handsome, she supposed, though a different kind of handsome from the ethereal beauty of the blond-haired man from the hologram. He was older, for starters, darker, and rugged, a little rough around the edges. But there was a confidence in him that made him seem perhaps more attractive than his appearance might otherwise suggest.

Cosette instantly liked him.

“I’m captain of the Musain,” Grantaire continued. “Joly tells me you’re looking for passage to the Saint-Sever system.”

Valjean nodded. “We are, provided it’s a fast ship.”

Grantaire stared at him, and both Wookiees made unintelligible noises under their breath. “If it’s _fast_?” Grantaire repeated incredulously. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Musain!”

“Should I have?” Valjean asked mildly.

Grantaire stared at him for a moment longer, then laughed. “Ordinarily, I’d say that was a bargaining trick,” he said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table. “You claim you don’t know my ship to try and lower the price, I try and brag about my ship to raise the price, and so on. But you don’t strike me as the bargaining type.”

Valjean raised an eyebrow at him. “What makes you say that?”

Waving a dismissive hand, Grantaire told him, “I’ve been hanging around scummy bars like this for long enough to know when someone’s trying to take me for a ride. You’re a decent guy, so you won’t try to screw me and I won’t try to screw you. Suffice to say, my ship is fast enough. What’s the cargo?”

If Grantaire’s speech had any effect on Valjean, he didn’t show it, his expression impassive as he said, “Only passengers. Myself, the girl, two droids, and no questions asked.”

Grantaire frowned. “Local trouble?”

Cosette glanced at Valjean, who didn’t so much as twitch as he replied blithely, “Let’s just say we’d like to avoid any Imperial entanglements.”

Both of Valjean’s statements proved one thing to Cosette — Valjean didn’t trust Grantaire. At least, not yet. It was like watching a game of holo-chess, only there was no board and she couldn’t see where the pieces were moving.

Grantaire leaned back in his seat; judging by the look on his face, Cosette was not alone in realizing Valjean didn’t quite trust him. “Well, that’s the trick, isn’t it,” he muttered, running a hand through his dark curls. “I can get it done, but it’ll cost you extra. Ten thousand, in advance.”

“Ten thousand?” Cosette couldn’t stop herself from exclaiming, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them. “We could practically buy our own ship for that!”

It wasn’t quite the truth, but still — Cosette felt the hyperbole was justified. She felt an itch under her skin, a flare of anger, and something she couldn’t quite place, something that felt like — power, like she could _crush_ this guy with her bare hands.

Grantaire raised both eyebrows at her. “And who would fly it, kid? You?” 

The derision in his voice set Cosette on edge, the anger coursing in her veins and thumping in her ears. “You bet I could,” she practically growled, leaning forward. “I’m not such a bad pilot myself, and we don’t have to sit here and listen—”

Valjean gently set his hand on top of hers, and in that moment, all the anger seemed to go out of her. She deflated, slumping back in her seat as Valjean told Grantaire calmly, “We don’t have that much with us. But we can pay you two thousand now, plus fifteen when we reach Saint-Sever.”

Grantaire glanced from Cosette to Valjean, his expression inscrutable. “Ok,” he said finally. “You’ve got yourself a ship.” He held out his hand, which Valjean shook. “We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready. Docking Bay 246, level 01.”

Nodding stiffly, Cosette slid out of the booth, followed by Valjean. “I can’t believe that,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth as she stalked out of the cantina. “You let him take us for that much—”

“Peace,” Valjean said calmly, touching her shoulder, and again she seemed to deflate, her anger leaving in an instant. “The money is of no object, and the man is right to hedge his bets.” He stopped, grabbing her arm to stop her as well, and his voice was urgent as he said, “You must watch your anger. Anger as a tool can be useful, but it can consume you and lead you to the Dark Side.”

Cosette nodded slowly, and Valjean let her go before adding in a more normal voice, “You’ll have to sell your landspeeder.”

Shrugging, Cosette managed a small smile. “That’s fine,” she said. “I don’t intend on ever coming back to this planet again.” 

* * *

 

Grantaire let out a heavy sigh as the old man and young girl left, slumping in the booth. “Seventeen _thousand_ ,” he breathed, relief clear in his voice. “This is going to save all of our asses.” Joly and Bossuet simultaneously growled in agreement, and Grantaire nodded at them. “Yeah, yeah, yeah — I know. If I had listened to you, I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. But maybe this will make up for it, so get back to the ship and get her ready, would you?”

Joly and Bossuet nodded and left, and Grantaire leaned down, resting his forehead against the cool wood of the table and letting out what could only be described as a sigh of relief. “That’s a pretty relieved sigh for a guy who owes as much money as you do,” a voice said, and Grantaire slowly sat up, narrowing his eyes at the green-skinned alien sitting across from him and aiming a blaster squarely at his chest.

“Babet,” he said grimly, his hand instantly reaching for the blaster holstered on his belt, though he did not draw it, merely loosening it and leaving his hand lightly on top of it. “I’m well aware of how much money I owe, but I was just on my way to see your boss. You can tell Thénardier that I’ve got his money.”

Babet clicked his tongue sympathetically. “You’re too late. Thénardier’s put a price on your head, so large that every bounty hunter in the galaxy will be looking for you. I’m lucky I found you first, though the Mandalore at the bar came close.”

Grantaire glanced over at the man in question then back at Babet. “Everyone knows Javert’s only after one bounty. Besides, I’ve _got_ the money.”

Smiling a wide and particularly vicious grin, Babet told him, “If you give me the money, I might forget I saw you.”

“Ignoring the fact that if I do I’ll just be picked up by another bounty hunter, it’s not as if I have it with me,” Grantaire said impatiently. “Tell Thénardier—”

Babet’s smile widened as he calmly interrupted, “Thénardier’s through with you. He has no time for smugglers who drop their shipments at the first sign of an Imperial cruiser.”  
  
Grantaire rapped the hand not currently resting on his blaster on the table. “Even I get boarded sometimes,” he said, irritated. “Do you think I would have done it if I had a choice?” 

Babet slowly raised his blaster. “You can tell that to Thénardier. He may only take your ship.” 

Grantaire’s lip curled. “Over my dead body.”

“That’s the idea,” Babet said. “I’ve been looking forward to killing you for a long time.”

For the first time since Babet showed up, Grantaire smiled, a fierce, almost resigned smile. “Yeah, I’ll bet you have,” he muttered, and pulled the trigger of his blaster, hidden beneath the table.

Babet slumped over, instantly killed by the blast, and all conversation in the cantina stopped. Slowly, Grantaire stood, re-holstering his blaster as he did. Aware of every eye on him, he walked over to the bar, where he plunked a coin down for the bartender. “For the mess,” he said, his voice a little shaky. Then, as he headed for the door, he stopped, and half-turned around, a small smile on his face. “And if anyone asks, feel free to tell them — I shot first.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moeder confronts Fameuil, Javert confronts Valjean, Thénardier confronts Grantaire, and Grantaire confronts figuring out star charts quickly enough to get them to hyperspace and leave Montfermeil behind. Lots of confrontation. Huh, I think there's a song about that somewhere...

Grand Moff Fameuil stared out the window of the Death Star, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Darth Moeder cleared her throat and repeated, “As I was saying, Prince Enjolras’s resistance to the mind probe is considerable. It will be some time before we can extract any meaningful information from him.” 

Fameuil turned around, his expression impassive, but before he could speak, and officer burst through the door, out of breath with excitement. “The final run-through is complete, sir,” the officer said, addressing solely Fameuil. “All systems are operational. What course shall we set?”

Tapping his chin thoughtfully, Fameuil turned back to Moeder. “If the prince will not respond to your attempts, perhaps an alternative form of persuasion is called for.”

Moeder tilted her head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I think it is time we demonstrate the full power of this station.” Fameuil raised his voice to speak to the waiting officer. “Set your course for Prince Enjolras’s home planet of Saint-Sever.”

The officer inclined his head and hastily left. Moeder stared at Fameuil, her masked face as expressionless as her voice as she said, “I hope you know what you are doing.” 

Fameuil laughed lightly. “I am doing what is best for the Empire. And the Emperor will thank me.”

“So you say,” Moeder said, her voice low. “So you say.”

* * *

 

“Valjean.”

Valjean stopped in his tracks, a little distance away from where Cosette was haggling with a paysan over the price of her landspeeder. He didn’t need to look behind him to know who had said his name in that deep, gravelly voice both familiar and foreign at once. “Javert.”

He finally turned, slightly, just enough to see the man dressed in full Mandalorian armor. “Dare I ask what the going price on my head is?”

Javert shook his head slowly. “It’s not about the price,” he said, his voice quiet. “It never has been.”

“Then what is it about?” Valjean asked, suddenly feeling as old as he was.

Javert didn’t hesitate. “Justice.”

“Justice?” Valjean spat, his face tightening as he glared into the mask of the man who remained the sole remnant of a past he would almost rather forget. “Have I not atoned enough?” When Javert remained silent, Valjean repeated, his voice breaking as he did, “Have I not atoned?”

Shaking his head, Javert reached towards his blaster, but he paused when Valjean spoke again. “Give me time,” he said softly. “For all you and I have been through, give me a few days to deliver the girl to Saint-Sever, and then I am yours. I will return and surrender myself to you.”

Javert snorted, unholstering his blaster and leveling it at Valjean. "You ask much for someone who has given me no reason to trust you."

Valjean shook his head. "I  _will_ return," he said quietly, "and you may dispose of me as you see fit. Let me finish this one final task, and then I am yours."

For a moment, Javert hesitated, then bowed his head slightly, his voice sounding odd as he told Valjean, "It is well. Go. I will wait for you here."

Valjean made as if to speak, to say, perhaps, something about what lingered between them from the past, but then Cosette turned around and waved at Valjean, indicating that a deal had been reached. Valjean nodded to her and then turned back to say something more to Javert, but Javert was already gone. 

* * *

 

Grantaire whistled cheerfully under his breath as he swaggered toward The Musain, a bottle of the grog that most cantinas in town sold in lieu of any better alcohol clenched lightly in one hand. Sure, he had passed most of the credits on to Joly as soon as he had received the transfer from the old man, but he couldn’t help but treat himself, and there was no harm in that, right?

Joly and Bossuet would argue otherwise, but they never had to know.

He was about to raise the bottle to his lips to take another swig when he froze in tracks, because there, waiting for him outside the Musain, his portly, slimy flesh practically bursting through the buttons of the too-small vest, was Thénardier. “Grantaire,” Thénardier said, his voice low and dangerous.

Grantaire slowly took the sip he had wanted to take earlier, letting it swish in his mouth before he swallowed, hard. “Thénardier,” he said slowly. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Thénardier told him. “Waiting for my money.”

Shrugging, Grantaire edged closer, mentally determining the likelihood that he would make it past Thénardier and his goons — he could spot a half dozen lurking in the giant slug’s shadow — and decided it was not likely. But hey, who was he to care about odds? “I’m not the type to run.”

Thénardier shrugged as well. “Maybe not, but you haven’t paid me and you fried poor Babet.”

Grantaire snorted. “Frankly, I’m surprised you remembered his name.” Thénardier managed to look affronted, and Grantaire felt his expression stiffen. “Look, the next time you want to talk to me, you can come see me yourself. Or at least have the common courtesy to pull the trigger yourself.”

Now Thénardier looked calculating, though at least he didn’t try to deny it. “I can’t make exceptions. If everyone who smuggled for me dropped their cargo at the first sign of the Galactic Guard, I’d be out of business.”

“Even I get boarded sometimes,” Grantaire said, his voice tight. “You think I’d have done it if I had a choice?” Thénardier didn’t respond, and Grantaire sighed before telling him in his most charming tone, “Look, I’ve just booked a nice, easy charter, and I’ll be able to pay you back, plus interest. I just — I need a little more time.”

Thénardier chuckled and stroked his chin, pretending to think about it, but Grantaire had seen his dim eyes light up at the mention of ‘interest’. Finally, Thénardier shrugged and said nonchalantly, “Well, you _are_ the best, so for an extra twenty percent—”

“Fifteen,” Grantaire interjecting sourly. “Don’t push it.”

Abruptly, Thénardier’s smile disappeared. “Fine, fifteen, but if you fail me again, I’ll put a price on your head so big that you won’t be able to go _near_ a civilized star system.”

Grantaire fired off a mock salute, watching with a stony expression as Thénardier slithered out, flanked by his goons. As soon as they were a reasonable distance away, Grantaire turned to dash up the landing ramp into the Musain. “Joly, get her started up,” he called.

Bossuet poked his head out of the cockpit and growled inquisitively. “Yeah,” Grantaire said grimly. “We’ve got trouble.”

* * *

 

Cosette stepped slowly on board the Musain, glancing around incredulously and ignoring Bossuet, who was gesturing emphatically at them. “What a piece of junk,” Cosette said under her breath.

Evidently, it was less under her breath than she thought, since Grantaire strode out of the stockroom and glared at her. “She may not look like much, but she’s got it where it counts.” The hand he laid against the walls — ignoring the peeling paint — was loving, and there was genuine pride in his voice as he added, “I’ve made some special modifications myself.”

Cosette just glanced back at Valjean, who shrugged, and Grantaire said, strain evident in his voice, “We’re a little rushed, so if you’ll hurry aboard we’ll get out of here.”

“Rushed?” Valjean asked sharply, following Grantaire into the cockpit. “Rushed why?”

Grantaire didn’t glanced back at him as he muttered, “Just a spot of trouble, nothing much to worry about—”

The words had barely gotten out of his mouth when white-clad stormtroopers appeared at the docking bay entrance, their blasters trained on the Musain. “They’re after us!” Grantaire and Cosette said in unison, before turning to stare bewilderedly at each other. “They’re after you?”

“We’ll debate who they’re chasing later,” Valjean snapped, and Grantaire quickly turned back to the controls. He punched a button and the ship seemed to hum slightly. “Blast shields activated.”

He reached up to flip a switch on the ceiling of the cockpit. “Joly, get us out of here!” The wookiee let out a loud noise and Grantaire chuckled without any humor. “He says strap in.”

Cosette laughed, but it died quickly as the ship tilted alarmingly, and she rushed for a seat, quickly strapping herself in. As Joly deftly maneuvered the ship, Grantaire opened fire on the troopers, who shouted unintelligibly as they shot back. “You could have waited until they fired at us,” Valjean told him.

“Yeah, well, shooting first is kind of my schtick,” Grantaire said dryly. “But since they _didn’t_ fire at us right away, I get the feeling they thought I would just give you up, which means they most likely weren’t after me.” He glanced over at Valjean, who remained impassive. “So they _are_ after you. You really should have disclosed that before this all started.”

Valjean shrugged. “It didn’t seem important at the time.”

The ship rocked as one of the blasts from the troopers hit home, and Grantaire grunted, “Does it seem important now?”

Sensing that the question was rhetorical, Valjean didn’t reply, and silence fell over the cockpit as the Musain cleared Rue Plumet air space and the orange vastness of Montfermeil slowly shrank behind them. “Well, at least that’s over,” Cosette started, trying to break the tension, when suddenly, alarms started blaring in the cockpit and Grantaire swore under his breath.

“Imperial cruiser, coming in fast.” He pushed another button on the dashboard. “This is definitely _not_ an easy charter.” He pointed to something on the dash. “Try and hold them off, Jolllly. Angle the deflector shields while I make the jump to light speed.”

Joly growled his response, and the ship was rocked by another blast. “Shit,” Grantaire swore. “Watch our six, would you?”

“Why don’t you outrun them?” Cosette burst, fear and adrenaline coursing through her veins as she gripped the edge of her seat. “I thought you said this thing was fast.”

Grantaire shot her a wounded look, hyperbolic even in the face of the chaos outside. “Watch your mouth — this baby’s got me through worse scrapes than this.” He pet the Musain’s console. “She didn’t mean it, baby,” he cooed.

Cosette rolled her eyes, but didn’t get a chance to respond before the ship was hit again. “Here’s where the fun begins,” Grantaire said.

Valjean cleared his throat. “How long until you make the jump to lightspeed?”

“Just a few...minutes...more…” Grantaire grunted between gritted teeth.

The ship rocked violently now, pelted seemingly on all sides by lasers. Cosette shook her head, eyes wide. “At the rate they’re gaining — isn’t there _any_ way to speed it up?”

Grantaire huffed a sigh. “Only if you want to fly through a star or wind up right next to a supernova. This requires precise calculations which be a _little_ easier to figure out without the running commentary from the peanut gallery.”  
  
Cosette bristled, but her rebuttal was cut off by the alarm sounding in the cockpit again, this time louder and accompanied by flashing. “What’s that?” 

“We’re losing the deflector shield,” Grantaire said, as if it were an everyday occurrence. “But thankfully, give me one moment more and—”

Without warning, the ship shot forward, the stars outside the cockpit becoming streaks as they finally made the jump to lightspeed. Everyone in the cockpit let out a collective sigh of relief and Grantaire glanced at Joly, who nodded, before swivelling around to level a look at Valjean and Cosette. “Now that _that’s_ done, I think you two have some explaining to do.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saint-Sever goes boom, and Valjean utters what may be the best line I've written in my entire life, the line that summarizes this AU more than any other line. See if you can find it.

“We’ve entered the Saint-Sever system,” Admiral Zéphine said quietly, not wanting to startle Grand Moff Fameuil, who was staring out at the stars.

She needn’t have worried — Fameuil didn’t flinch as he turned around, his expression stoic as usual. He was about to reply when the door swished open again and Darth Moeder strode in, accompanied by two stormtroopers who were all but dragging the still-defiant Enjolras along with them. He glared up at Fameuil as they finally halted. “Governor Fameuil,” Enjolras spat. “I should have expected you to be holding Moeder’s leash.” He jerked his shoulder out of the stormtroopers’ grip. “I recognized your foul stench when you were brought on board.”

“If I didn’t know you acted this way to any person of authority, I’d be flattered by your charm,” Fameuil said blithely, fixing Enjolras with his pale stare. “You don’t know how hard I found it signing the order to terminate your life.”

Enjolras’s lip curled. “I’m surprised you had the balls to take the responsibility yourself.”

Fameuil shook his head at Enjolras’s vulgarity, but did not comment on it, instead turning towards the large window. “Prince Enjolras, before you’re taken away to be killed I would love if you would be my guest at a ceremony that will make this battle station operational. No star system will dare oppose the Emperor now.”

The look Enjolras gave Fameuil was scathing. “The more you tighten your grip, the more star systems will slip through your fingers. You think the Revolution is just one small group? The _people_ are rising, and they’re not confined to one base.”

Laughing, Fameuil shook his head. “So you might insist, but you and I both know better. And since you refuse to provide us with the location of that base, I have elected to demonstrate the destructive power of this battle station on your home planet of Saint-Sever.”

Enjolras whitened, and he struggled in vain against the guards, his eyes flashing with something close to fear. “No! Saint-Sever is peaceful and has stayed out of the Revolution! If you bring the battle to them—”

“There will be no battle because there will be no Saint-Sever,” Fameuil said calmly. “If you would prefer another target, a military target, then name the system!” 

Though Enjolras’s continued to struggle against the guards, there was a certain defeat already in the set of his shoulders, and his struggle slowed. Fameuil watched with disdain before saying impatiently, “I grow tired of asking, so this will be the last time. Where is the Les Amis base?”

“We’re approaching Saint-Sever,” Admiral Zéphine announced, oblivious or uncaring as to what was going on.

Enjolras’s eyes flashed over to stare out the window at the planet growing larger and closer, and then he closed them, his voice trembling slightly as he whispered, “Guernsey. They’re on Guernsey.” 

Fameuil smirked as he glanced over at Darth Moeder, glowering in the background. “See, with the right persuasion, even _he_ can be reasonable.” Then he looked at Zéphine. “Continue with the operation. You may fire when ready.” 

“What?” Enjolras shouted, finally breaking free of his guards and rushing at Fameuil, only to be restrained once more.

There was no apology in Fameuil’s voice as he said calmly, “You’re far too trusting, and Guernsey is far too remote to make an effective demonstration of this battlestation. Never fear, we’ll make the rebel scum — I mean, your Revolution friends — pay soon enough.”

Enjolras struggled even harder, tears pricking in his eyes as he stared desperately out the window, at the red lasers that joined together to form a single beam, a beam that pierced space to illuminate Saint-Sever in a sickening glow for one brief moment before the planet exploded into a million pieces.

Fameuil turned back to Enjolras, smugness written in every line of his face, but Enjolras didn’t look at him, just continued to stare out the window, his tears less of sorrow for his home planet and more of rage and utter determination.

* * *

 

Valjean watched approvingly as Cosette swung the lightsaber in the common room of the Musain, her movements already less clumsy than they had once been in only a few short hours. Suddenly, he froze, clutching his chest as he sank into a chair. Cosette instantly switched off the lightsaber and darted to his side. “What’s wrong?” she asked, panicked.

“I felt a great disturbance in the Force,” Valjean said faintly, his gaze a million miles away. “As if millions of voices cried out in terror and then were suddenly silenced…” He trailed off, then shook his head, forcing a smile onto his face, though his expression remained troubled. “You should get back to your exercises.” 

While Cosette shrugged and picked up the lightsaber, moving back into her practice stance, Grantaire strolled into the room, wiping his hands on a rag and whistling off-key. “Well, you can forget your troubles with those National Guard slugs. I told you I’d outrun ‘em!” When neither Cosette nor Valjean acknowledged him, he scowled and slumped into a chair. “Don’t all thank me at once. We should be to Saint-Sever in a few hours.”

In the far corner, Joly and Bossuet were engaged in a strange mix of growls, howls and grunts as they played a hologram game similar to chess. MAR-E-S wandered over, watching closely, and Q4 whistled softly. “I haven’t quite figured out the rules yet, Q4, so perhaps it’s best if you don’t ask to join just yet,” MAR-E-S told it.

“I wouldn’t anyway, if I were you,” Grantaire called to them. “Wookiees are sore losers, and Joly and Bossuet are the worst. They’ll rip your arm out if you beat ‘em.”

MAR-E-S turned to stare at him, alarmed. “Should they be playing each other then?”

Grantaire waved a dismissive hand. “Nah. They’re fond of each other. If one of them wins, the other will just sulk about it for awhile.” Bossuet growled, and Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t give me that bullshit, you know that’s true.”

Nodding sagely, MAR-E-S turned back to the game. “No one seems to worry about beating a droid,” it told Q4, who beeped affirmatively. “Perhaps if I told them about that time when you lit the game on fire after losing…”

Cosette swung the lightsaber, trying to deflect an electric shock from the hovering training droid and missing, and Valjean shook his head, coming out of his reverie. “Remember, a Jedi can feel the Force flowing through them.”

“Does it control your actions?” Cosette asked, curious 

Valjean leaned forward. “Partly. But it also obeys your command. It’s a living thing that connects us and fills us all. It guides us towards compassion and goodness. To love another person is to know the living Force.”

Cosette glanced at him, startled. “I thought you said—” She broke off, her brow furrowing. “Didn’t you say that the Jedi are forbidden from love?”

Laughing, Valjean shook his head. “Quite the opposite,” he assured her. “In the Old Republic, Jedi were forbidden from marriage, or from putting a family above commitment to the Order, but not from love — never from love. Love is the root from which springs the core values of a Jedi: compassion, justice, peace. Love is a wonderful thing, and the Force encourages love in many ways.”

Cosette made a face. “I guess I’ll have to see,” she said, turning back to the training droid. “I’ve got better things to worry about right now.”

Valjean frowned. “Just remember that there is power in love, as much as there is your lightsaber, or other aspects of the Force.”

Grantaire snorted loudly, and both Valjean and Cosette swiveled to stare at him. “Hokey religions, ancient weapons and the power of ‘love’ are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid.”

Cosette scowled at him, but Valjean asked mildly, “You don’t believe in the Force? And what about love?”

Though Grantaire laughed dryly, something in his expression tightened. “Let’s just say that when flying from one side of this galaxy to the other, I’m seen a lot of strange shit, but I’ve never seen anything to make me believe there’s one all-powerful force controlling anything. And love, well…” He trailed off and then shook his head. “Love’s for suckers. And whatever power love has, it’s got nothing on the power of cold, hard cash.”

Valjean didn’t comment, though there was something contemplative in his expression. Instead, he turned to Cosette. “Why don’t you try your exercises again, but this time, wearing this.” He grabbed a helmet from its hook on the wall and placed it on Cosette’s head, the visor hiding her bemused expression. “Let go of your conscious self and act on instinct.”

“Um,” Cosette started, clearly looking for some eloquent way to put it before giving up and just saying what was obvious, “with the blast visor on the helmet down, I can’t see anything.”

Valjean rapped lightly on the helmet with his knuckles. “Your sight can be deceptive. You can’t always trust it, but you _can_ always trust the Force.”

Grantaire snorted again, but this time he was ignored. Instead, Cosette shrugged and raised her lightsaber as Valjean activated the training droid. For a long moment, Cosette just stood there, completely lost, as the spherical training droid spun through the air before sending out a shock, which hit Cosette in the leg, causing her to yelp. “Stretch out with your feelings.”

Taking a deep breath, Cosette raised the lightsaber, settling into a defensive stance. The training droid spun and moved to her right before sending out another shock. This time, Cosette was ready, swinging her lightsaber to deflect the shock. “See!” Valjean said, triumphantly, as Grantaire harrumphed and rolled his eyes. 

Cosette pulled the helmet off, beaming at Valjean. “I felt something!” she said excitedly. “It’s almost like I could see it.”

“I call it luck,” Grantaire interjected, answering a question that no one asked.

Valjean frowned slightly at him. “In my experience, there’s no such thing as luck.” 

Grantaire rolled his eyes again. “Fine, so let’s say that she _did_ feel it — but that’s still just a remote. Applying that to an actual battle is a whole different game.” Cosette scowled and was about to interrupt when Grantaire abruptly glanced at a panel on the wall. “It looks like we’re arriving at the Saint-Sever system.”

The wookiees both stood to follow Grantaire to the cockpit. Cosette made as if to follow, but Valjean stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “You did well,” he told softly, and she smiled at him. “You’ve taken your first step into a larger world.”

* * *

 

Darth Moeder stood slightly behind Grand Moff Fameuil, her breathing heavy in his ear. An officer bowed to both of them, hesitant to interrupt. “Yes?” Fameuil said, with a touch of impatience.

“Our scout ships reached Guernsey. They found the remains of a rebel base, but they estimate that it has been deserted for some time. They’re conducting a search of the surrounding systems, but finding anything seems...unlikely.”

Fameuil turned, his eyes flashing dangerously, and the officer scampered away as quickly as possible to avoid being blamed for the message. Darth Moeder cleared her throat, a touch of triumph in her voice as she said, “I told you he would never consciously betray the revolution.”

The murderous look on Fameuil’s face slowly turned to steely resolve. “Terminate him. Immediately.”

* * *

 

Cosette and Valjean slipped into the cockpit just as Grantaire eased the Musain out of hyperspace and instantly almost fell as the ship shuddered and shook, pelted on all sides by space debris. Both quickly took their seats, strapping in as Grantaire swore under his breath. “Joly, divert power to stabilizers and deflector shield. Bossuet, check the star chart and figure out what the hell happened.”

“What’s going on?” Cosette asked anxiously.

Grantaire shrugged, only giving her part of his attention as he maneuvered the ship through the rocks. “We’ve come out of lightspeed into some kind of meteor shower. An asteroid collision, maybe? It’s not on any of the charts.”

Bossuet let out a startled growl and Grantaire turned toward him, his brow furrowed. “That can’t be right,” he muttered, standing and crossing to Bossuet, peering over his shoulder at what the wookiee was gesturing emphatically at. “Shit.”

“What?” Valjean asked sharply.

Half-turning, Grantaire told them curtly, “Our position is correct, but Saint-Sever is gone.”

Cosette stared at him. “What do you mean, gone?” she asked, not understanding. “A planet can’t just disappear.” 

Grantaire snorted. “Apparently it can, since it’s not here. It’s been totally blown away.”

“Destroyed,” Valjean interjected, a calm sort of fury in his voice as he stared out at the mess of space rocks still pelting the Musain. “Blasted to pieces by the Empire.”

Joly howled incredulously, and Grantaire nodded. “I’m with him,” he said, jerking his chin at Joly. “The entire starfleet couldn’t destroy a whole planet. It’d take a thousand ships with more firepower than—”

He broke off as a light flashed on the dash, and he slipped back into the captain’s chair. “Ship coming in hot,” he reported.

Cosette shrugged, still trying to wrap her mind around what Valjean had just said — an entire planet, destroyed. All of its inhabitants… “Maybe they know what happened,” she suggested faintly.

Shaking his head, Grantaire muttered, “It’s an Imperial fighter, so forgive me if I don’t take the time to ask.” He flipped a switch overhead. “Short range fighter — but there aren’t any bases nearby. 

Bossuet growled, and Grantaire swore. “Well, I’m clearly not going to _give_ him a chance to report our location.” With a practiced ease, he exchanged the flight controls for the blaster joystick while ordering Joly, “Jam their transmissions.”

“It’s out of range,” Valjean said calmly. “It’s best to just let it go.”

Grantaire snorted. “I’m known for many talents, gramps, but letting _anything_ go isn’t exactly one of them.”

They were gaining on the fighter, but they had been so invested in it that none of them had noticed what was looming in the distance until Cosette said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears, “It’s heading towards that small moon over there.”

Grunting, Grantaire muttered, “I think I can get him before he reaches it…”

“That’s no moon,” Valjean said, the calm in his voice shaken slightly. “It’s a space station.”

For a moment, all three just stared at it, but Grantaire was the first to break the silence. “That’s too big to be a space station,” he said dismissively.

Though Bossuet growled in agreement, Joly let out a more concerned noise, and gestured with one massive hairy paw towards whatever it was, and they all looked closer. Just barely visible was the unmistakable outline of sentry towers, windows, docking bays, and everything else that typically demarcated a space station.

“I have a very bad feeling about this,” Cosette said faintly, her eyes wide.

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Yeah...yeah, so do I. Full reverse, Joly — lock in the auxiliary power!”

Nothing happened, and Cosette frowned. “Why are we still moving towards it?!”

Looking wildly around, Grantaire snapped, “We’re caught in a tractor beam. I’m at full power and I’m gonna have to shut down.” Grinding his teeth together, he flipped a few switches and grabbed the blaster joystick again. “But they’re not going to get me without a fight.”

Valjean laid one of his huge hands on Grantaire’s shoulder. “This is one fight you won’t win. But there may be an alternative to fighting.”

“Oh yeah?” Grantaire asked. “What’s the catch?”

Valjean smiled grimly. “You’ll have to trust me.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the best plans are the ones that rely on sheer luck (and maybe a little on a pretty powerful Jedi), but not even Jedi powers are enough to stop stubbornness in the face of staging a rescue operation. You tried, Valjean. You really did.

With almost surgical precision the tractor beam drew the Musain past the docking port and into the hangar, and the ship touched down on the polished black landing pad. “To your stations!” an officer called, ordering the stormtroopers to flank the ship. “Close all outboard shields!”

In the control room above the hangar, Fameuil answered the call coming in on the intercom. “What?” he asked in clipped tones. 

The officer on the ground glanced up at him. “We’ve captured a freighter entering the Saint-Sever system. Its ship name and markings match a ship that blasted its way out of Montfermeil.”

Darth Moeder’s breath hissed next to Fameuil’s ear. “They must be trying to return the stolen plans to the prince. He may yet be of some use to us.” She turned to face Fameuil. “We should stay his execution until we determine who or what is onboard that ship.”

Fameuil waved a dismissive hand. “So long as that insolent brat ends up dead before the day’s end, I couldn’t care less. I have a meeting with Admiral Zéphine to discuss the progress — or lack thereof — on this space station. I trust you can take care of this.”

Though it was a declaration rather than a question, Moeder nonetheless bowed her head. “You can trust me.”

* * *

 

Darth Moeder strode up to the ship, and the officers standing outside its hull saluted when they saw her. “Ma’am, we’ found no signs of anyone on board. According to the log, the crew abandoned ship right after takeoff.”

“It’s a decoy,” Moeder said flatly. “Send a scanning crew onboard. I want every part of the ship checked.” 

One of the officers fired off a hasty salute, but the other looked skeptical. “Forgive me for asking, ma’am, but what makes you think it’s a decoy? We found nothing on board and several of the escape pods were jettisoned.”

Moeder turned her black mask toward him, the light from the hangar glinting sinisterly off the polished surface. “I sense something — a presence I haven’t felt since—”

She stopped abruptly and turned on heel, striding out as quickly as she had come in, and the officer stared after her, baffled. The first officer ignored his companion, instead gesturing at one of the storm troopers. “You heard Lady Moeder — get me a scanning crew in here on the double!”

* * *

 

Cosette carefully pushed the floor grate up to peer out, making sure the troops had disappeared. When she saw no sign of them, she heaved a sigh of relief and pushed the grate to the side. “Coast is clear!” she called before leveraging herself out. From around her, Grantaire, Joly, Bossuet and Valjean were also slowly pushing their own floor panels up, and Cosette told Grantaire, “It’s lucky you had these compartments.”

Grantaire shrugged, perturbed. “I use them for smuggling, but I never thought I’d be smuggling myself in them.” He glanced at Valjean. “You realize we’re stuck here now. Even if I could take off, we’ll never get past that tractor beam.”

Valjean didn’t look concerned, instead brushing dust off of his robes. “Leave that to me,” he said simply.

Bossuet let out what sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Foolish old man,” he said under his breath, though Valjean heard it and smiled. 

“Who is the more foolish —  the fool or the fool who follows him?”

This time it was Joly who made a disparaging noise, and Grantaire nodded and pointed at the Wookiee. “Exactly. He’s got the right edge of this. I don’t give a damn if we’re both fools, we’re all going to wind up dead or imprisoned by the Empire! We have no plan!”

Valjean shook his head. “At the end of the day, having a plan is not what matters. Plans change, circumstances change. What matters is the _faith_ that things will still somehow turn out alright. Don’t you have any faith?”

For a moment, it looked as if Grantaire was going to say something serious, his brow furrowed and his eyes dark. Then he shook his head and laughed flatly. “I have faith in one thing — my full glass. And at this rate I’m beginning to think I was better off sticking to that on Montfermeil than this damn fool adventure.”

Though Valjean started to answer, Bossuet let out a worried noise and MAR-E-S helpfully interjected, “Bossuet believes that the stormtroopers are about to return, and this time with scanners.”

Grantaire and Cosette exchanged worried glances, and Grantaire raised his eyebrow at Valjean. “Alright, old man, what do you suggest now?” 

Valjean smiled. “Faith.”

* * *

 

Grantaire could feel cold sweat run down the back of his neck, and the worst part was that he didn’t know if it was his own sweat or the sweat of the trooper he had ... _liberated_ the suit from. “Maybe it’s stupid of me to mention it,” he hissed as they headed down the hallway with an air of casualness that was undeniably forced, “but don’t you think _someone’s_ going to notice the two Wookiees?”

Joly growled, clearly insulted, and Grantaire resisted patting his arm as he normally would have done, since both his hands were currently locked in a death grip on the blaster he held. Cosette shrugged, a gesture that looked strange in the stormtrooper suit she had purloined from the guard she had knocked out with surprisingly efficient accuracy. “If you act like nothing’s wrong, maybe no one will notice,” she suggested.

It was insanity, but worse, it was insanity that seemed to be working. Grantaire had to wonder about the mindset of the troops and officers that passed them in the hall and barely gave them a second glance, but decided that if he thought about it too long, he’d just give himself a headache. Instead, he concentrated on making use of his blaster as soon as they entered the control room, incapacitating the three officers inside with well-timed blasts.

Then, finally, he was able to take the stormtrooper helmet off, though he wasn’t prepared to be confronted by an angry Cosette, her eyes like flint as she snapped, “With you blasting everything in sight, it’s a wonder the whole space station doesn’t know we’re here!”

“Bring ‘em on!” he snapped right back. “I prefer a straight fight to all this sneaking around!”

Cosette just continued to glare at him, and Grantaire counted that as a mental point in his favor that she couldn’t come up with an argument against him. And seriously, the old man could speak about ‘faith’ all he wanted — Grantaire called it pure blind luck that they managed to overwhelm the scanner crew, steal their stormtrooper suits and sneak out of the ship, Wookiees, droids and old man in tow, and make it to the hangar control room, all without being stopped.

“Q4 has found the main computer to power the tractor beam,” MAR-E-S announced, standing behind Q4, who was plugged into an outlet and whistling quietly. “The tractor beam is coupled to the main reactor in several locations, but a power loss at one of the terminals would be enough to allow the ship to leave.” 

Valjean peered at the data on the screen, a small wrinkle furrowing his brow, and after a long moment he announced, “I don’t think anyone can help. I must go alone.”

Cosette looked horrified but Grantaire flopped into a chair, grateful for the break. “Whatever you say,” he said, rolling his shoulders to try to get some of the kinks out. “”I’ve gotten more than I bargained for on this trip already.”

Cosette was not so easily convinced, instead grabbing Valjean’s hand and pulling him aside, her expression serious. “I want to go with you,” she said. “I can help — I know I don’t know everything about the Force but—”

Valjean shook his head firmly. “Be patient,” he said, squeezing her hand. “You will prove your worth soon enough, but for now, you must watch over the droids.”

Cosette shook her head and started, “But—”, though she was quickly cut off by Valjean. 

“They must be delivered to the Revolution safely to save other star systems from Saint-Sever’s fate.” Valjean paused and took a breath, a strange look on his face for a brief moment until it smoothed into something more neutral. “Your destiny lies along a different path from mine.” He hesitated for a moment before leaning in and kissing her on the forehead, a strangely formal but also paternal gesture. “The Force will be with you,” he told her, squeezing her hand again. “Always.”

With that, he slipped out of the control, a quiet determination in the set of his shoulders, and Cosette stared after him, worry etched in every line of her face. Behind her, Grantaire snorted. “Where did you dig up that old fossil?”

Cosette whirled on him, her eyes flashing. “Valjean is a great man,” she said loyally. 

Grantaire snorted again. “Yeah, great at getting us in trouble.” He leaned forward, his expression challenging. “And I suppose you don’t see any problem in us just waiting around for him to pick us up?”

Cosette started to answer but was interrupted by Q4, who beeped wildly. MAR-E-S turned to Cosette. “I don’t know what it’s going on about,” it reported. “It just keeps saying, ‘I found him’ and repeating, ‘He’s here’.”

Frowning, Cosette asked, “Well, who has it found?”

Q4 beeped frantically, and MAR-E-S dutifully reported, “Prince Enjolras.”

“The Prince?” Cosette asked, remembering the man from the hologram and how desperate he had sounded. “He’s here?”

MAR-E-S glanced at the computer screen and said, “Level 5, detention block A A-3-2. I’m afraid he’s scheduled to be terminated.”

Grantaire sat up slowly, an unreadable expression his face. “Prince?” he repeated. “Who is this prince?” 

Cosette shrugged helplessly. “The droids belong to him,” she told him. “He sent a message — well, it’s kind of hard to explain, but we _have_ to help him!”

Shaking his head, Grantaire said, “Look, don’t get any funny ideas. As much as I hate the idea of sitting here, it’s infinitely better than going off on a half-cocked rescue mission! What if Valjean gets back and we’re not here?”

“But he doesn’t know that Enjolras is here!” Cosette said earnestly.

Grantaire still wasn’t convinced. “Ok, say that we get to the detention block in these uniforms and say that we even get into this prince’s cell — then what? The peons we passed getting here was one thing, but marching down to the detention block, where the troops are undoubtedly better trained to recognize, I don’t know, imposters, maybe?”

Cosette glared at him. “But they’re going to _kill_ him!” she half-shouted. 

Shrugging unconcernedly, Grantaire leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as he said, “Better him than me.”

“He’s rich,” Cosette said, a little desperately.

Grantaire cracked one eye open. “So are lots of people. And potentially in situations that won’t involve the high possibility of me dying.”

Casting around desperately, Cosette blurted, “He’s hot!”

Now Grantaire sat up slowly, a closed expression on his face. “So?”

“Sooo…” Cosette drew the vowel out, scrabbling desperately for an explanation to why she felt like this was pertinent piece of information. “So he’s _gorgeous_ and I can’t explain how I know it, but I think he’s into, you know, guys.” She blushed bright red but Grantaire’s expression didn’t change, and Cosette added desperately, “Imagine all those fairy tales where the hostage falls in love with their rescuer.”

Grantaire snorted. “Those hostages are normally female.”

“Firstly, that's sexist, and besides, this is a gorgeous guy instead and who knows, maybe he’ll fall for his rescuer,” Cosette said with more conviction than she felt. “Just imagine it!”

“I don’t know, I can imagine quite a bit,” Grantaire muttered.

Cosette made one final pitch. “Come on, at the very least saving a prince has to give you some kind of street cred!”

To her surprise, that seemed to work, or perhaps it was her previous argument sinking in as Grantaire slowly stood, though he looked a little embarrassed. “Well, you better hope this works,” he muttered. “So what’s your plan?”

Casting around wildly, Cosette saw the handcuffs on one of the downed guards’ belts. “Here!” she said, grabbing them and turning to Joly, who instantly howled and yanked his paws away from her. “Um, Grantaire, maybe, uh, you want to put these on?”

Grantaire shook his head and took the binders from her. “Joly, if I understand what she’s trying to do, this may actually work,” he said reluctantly. “And Bossuet, you better get over here, too.”

From the corner of the room, MAR-E-S asked, a little panicked, “Master Cosette, I don’t mean to interrupt, but what should Q4 and I do if we’re discovered here?”

Cosette bit her lip, a brief pang of guilt that she hadn’t given any thought to the droids flashing through her, though it was quickly replaced by the determination to rescue the prince, and she shrugged. “Lock the door,” she suggested.

Grantaire gave MAR-E-S a smirk. “And hope they don’t have blasters.”

MAR-E-S told them dryly, “That isn’t very reassuring.”

Cosette and Grantaire exchanged glances before shrugging. “That’s all we’ve got,” they said simultaneously before putting their stormtrooper helmets back on and ducking into the hallway to head down to the detention block and rescue Prince Enjolras. MAR-E-S turned back to Q4. “I have a very bad feeling about this.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rescue is staged. To say it goes well would be an overstatement of galactic proportions.

Valjean peeked carefully around a corner. For such a large man, he seemed to be almost invisible as he headed down the hallway, aided, perhaps, by the power of the Force acting almost as a cloak against prying eyes. 

Then again, maybe the stormtroopers were just inordinately unobservant.

Either way, Valjean faced little trouble as he made his way from the control room toward the stations that would shut off the power for the tractor beam. In fact, he was feeling almost confident as he went. As long as Cosette and Grantaire stayed in the control room with the droids, there’d be little way that this could go wrong. 

* * *

 

Cosette adjusted the stormtrooper helmet on her head, glancing over at Grantaire, who was bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet as the elevator slowly descended. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice sounding odd through the helmet.

“Like this isn’t going to work,” Grantaire said, his voice rough but also hollowly echoing through the helmet on his own head. “Probably because, you know, this _isn’t_ going to work.”

Shaking her head, Cosette turned back to the front of the elevator, her voice sour as she snapped, “Well, maybe you should have said something before!”

Grantaire snorted. “I _did_ say something before.” Over Grantaire’s shoulder, Bossuet growled, and Grantaire elbowed him in his furry stomach. “No one asked you for your opinion.”

Joly shook his paws, the handcuffs on his wrists rattling ominously, and he let out a cautionary growl as the elevator drew to a stop on the detention level. “Here we go,” Cosette murmured, grabbing Joly’s handcuffs to prepare to escort her “prisoner” out of the elevator.

“Yup,” Grantaire said, a little grimly, grabbing Bossuet’s handcuffs as well. “Here goes nothing.”

The doors slid open and Cosette and Grantaire stepped out, coming face to face with a half dozen Galactic Guards watching the security monitors, who slowly turned to stare at them. “What’s going on here?” barked one of the officers, straightening from where he had been bent down to look at a monitor. “What are you doing with these... _things_?”

Bossuet growled at the officer’s tone, but Cosette spoke over him with a confidence she didn’t fully possess. “Prisoner transfer from Block one-eight-three-two.”

The officer scowled. “I wasn’t notified,” he said in a tone that suggested this wasn’t the first time he hadn’t been notified of something like this, and deeply resented that fact. “I’ll have to clear it first.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary—” Cosette started anxiously, but Grantaire cut her off.

“Oh no, he’s loose,” he said, voice bored and completely devoid of emotion as Bossuet flung his handcuffs off and growled triumphantly. “Whatever are we going to do now that the furry monster is loose?”

Bossuet shot him a look before grabbing a gun from one of the confused guards and firing it at him. Joly also discarded his own handcuffs and grabbed a gun, and both Cosette and Grantaire drew their blasters, ostensibly firing towards the two wookiees but instead taking out the security cameras with well-placed shots. In the ensuing chaos, as the guards struggled to draw their own blasters, Joly and Bossuet descended on them, knocking them out in record time.

Grantaire pulled off his helmet and made a beeline for the computers, checking the screen. “This prince of yours is in cell 1848. You go get him — we’ll hold things down here.”

Cosette balked, staring at him. “You mean...you want me to go get him? I thought you…” She trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the thought, and Grantaire gave her a look.

“Is this really the time to argue? This is _your_ operation, kid — time for you to rescue the handsome prince.”

Shrugging, Cosette holstered her blaster and darted down the hallway, looking back and forth at the cell numbers to find cell 1848.

In the meantime, Grantaire turned back to the console, which was blinking angrily at him with a message, and it was no small amount of trepidation that he pushed the button. “What’s going on down there?” an angry voice demanded.

Grantaire coughed nervously. “Everything’s under control. Situation, uh, normal.” He glanced at Joly and Bossuet, who shrugged helplessly, and elaborated, with perhaps more detail than wholly necessary, “Just a slight weapons malfunction. You know how these blasters can be. The old 32A series was just so much more reliable — the triggers keep sticking. But, uh, everything’s perfectly fine now. We’re fine. Um. Thank you. How are you?”

He winced as soon as he said it, and the responding voice was suspicious. “We’re sending a squad in to check on you.”

“Uh, uh, negative,” Grantaire said, clearly panicking. “We’ve, uh, we’ve got a situation with the, uh, the reactor core -- it’s, um, it’s leaking. Very dangerous. So, just, um, give us a few minutes to lock it down. We’ll let you know when it’s all clear.”

He held his breath, hoping they would fall for it. They didn’t. “Who is this?” the voice demanded. “What’s your squad number?” 

“Fuck,” Grantaire said succinctly, grabbing his blaster and shooting the comlink. “Well, I didn’t want to talk to them anyway.” He glanced over his shoulder at Cosette, who had slowed as she looked back and forth at cell numbers. “Cosette! We’re gonna have company!”

Cosette barely spared a glance back him, instead halting in front of the correct cell and drawing her blaster with fumbling fingers to blast the lock. The door immediately slid open, revealing the prince inside, and Cosette’s breath caught in her throat. Not because the guy was even more handsome than his hologram, though arguably he was, but because the blast had caused her to inhale a bunch of smoke.

As she tried to clear her airway without hacking up a lung, the prince stood from where he had been lounging in what wasn’t at all by any means a casually sexual position. He shook his head slightly, his blond curls cascading to frame a face that looked like it had been carved by angels, a face that didn’t at all match the completely dubious expression he wore. “Aren’t you a little short to be a stormtrooper?”

“Huh?” Cosette asked, eloquently, before realizing and pulling her helmet off. “Right, sorry — my name’s Cosette, and I’m here to rescue you.”

Enjolras blinked. “You’re who?”

“I’m here to rescue you,” Cosette repeated, with a touch of impatience. “I’ve got your Q4 unit. I’m here with Jean Valjean.”

Instantly, Enjolras straightened, his eyes flashing. “Valjean?” he demanded. “Where?”

Cosette gestured with her blaster. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll take you to him.”

* * *

 

Darth Moeder paced the room, her polished boots pounding rhythmically against the floor with each step. “He is here,” she said, her voice low.

Fameuil turned to face her, bored. “Jean Valjean. What in the world would make you think so?”

“A tremor in the Force,” Moeder said shortly. “The last time I felt such a tremor was in the presence of my old Master.”

She did not elaborate on the circumstances of the last meeting, and Fameuil didn’t ask, instead snorting as he turned away. “Surely the old man is dead by now.”

Moeder stared at him. “Don’t underestimate the power of the Force,” she said, a slightly threat in the lilt of her voice.

Fameuil laughed and shook his head. “The Jedi are extinct,” he said confidently. “You are all that remains of their religion, so forgive me if I don’t exactly take every tingle of your spine as gospel that some ghost from your past has appeared.”

He was about to go on, but his comlink buzzed, and he pressed it impatiently. “Governor Fameuil, we have an emergency alert in detention block A A-three-two.”

Growling, Fameuil snapped, “That’s the prince’s block. Put all units on alert!”

“Jean Valjean is here,” Moeder said calmly, though there was a hint of triumph in her voice. “The Force is with him.”

Fameuil whirled around to glare at her. “ _If_ you’re right, and Valjean is involved in this, he must not be allowed to escape.”

Moeder shook her head, drawing her lightsaber hilt and turning it over in her gloved hands. “Escape is not his plan,” she said, her voice soft but resigned. “I must face him. Alone.”

* * *

 

Grantaire fired six shots in quick succession at the elevator controls, which exploded with a satisfying _boom_. “Maybe that will hold them,” he said to Joly and Bossuet, who didn’t look convinced. Sure enough, the doors started to creak open, and Grantaire made a noise that could charitably be considered a squeak. “Shit.”

The three of them opened fire on the elevator and the guards inside, backing up as they did until they were finally at the hallway. Then Joly shot the computer console, which exploded spectacularly, giving them enough flame and smoke to cover their hasty retreat down the hallway to where Cosette and Enjolras were waiting. “Can’t get out that way,” Grantaire shouted, though he drew to an immediate halt as soon as he saw Enjolras, his jaw actually falling open as he gaped at the blond man, who was currently glaring at him.

“Great,” Enjolras said sarcastically, scowling. “That means you’ve cut off our sole escape route.”

Grantaire tried to talk, but no sound came out, and Enjolras rolled his eyes before leaning forward and plucking the blaster out of Grantaire’s numb hands. “I’m beginning to think I would be better off in my cell.”

Flushing, Grantaire grabbed one of the spare blasters that Joly had picked up from the guards, finally dragging his eyes away from Enjolras. Cosette grabbed her comlink and shouted into it, “MAR-E-S! We’ve been cut off! We need an alternate exit out of the detention block.”

MAR-E-S’s voice was clearly worried as it replied, it’s voice crackling, “All systems have been alerted to your presence, sir. The main entrance seems to be the only way in or out — all other information on your level is restricted.”

“Shit,” Cosette swore, and then swore again when one of the stormtroopers hit the comlink out of her hand with a well-placed shot.

They dove towards the sides of the hallway, using the alcoves to hide behind as Joly and Bossuet fired back at the troops streaming out of the elevator. “There isn’t another way out,” Cosette reported.

“Well, this is just a great rescue,” Enjolras said sarcastically, glaring at Grantaire in the alcove across the hall. “When you came in here, didn’t you have a plan for getting out?”

Grantaire glared right back at him, having finally recovered the power of speech, and he gestured with his blaster at Cosette. “She’s the brains, sweetheart.”

Enjolras’s lip curled. “And what are you?" 

Grantaire winked. “The looks.”

Making a disparaging noise, Enjolras aimed the blaster directly at Grantaire, whose eyes went wide, and opened fire, hitting the grate next to Grantaire, which fell in. “What the hell are you doing?” Grantaire yelped.

“Someone’s got to save our asses. Now get into the garbage chute.” Enjolras strode confidently across the hall and slid into the opening, disappearing out of sight.

Bossuet looked down at the chute and growled, and Grantaire glared at him. “No, I _don’t_ want to hear a complete history of garbage chutes aboard starships. What the hell is wrong with you? This is not the time or place to take a massive break from the action for something as asinine as that.”

Clearly offended, Bossuet pouted as he slid down chute, and Joly followed him. Grantaire glanced over at Cosette, who was firing into the officers making their way down the hallway. “Wonderful guy, this prince,” he shouted. “Either I’m going to kill him or I’m beginning to like him. Now get in here!”

Cosette nodded and sprinted across the hall, diving headfirst into the chute. Grantaire squeezed off another few rounds before taking a deep breath, wishing desperately for a drink, and following her down the chute.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of our heroes being almost crushed to death in a garbage compressor, we instead turn our attention to the existential angst of the two droids. Why? Partially because a garbage compressor almost killing people is not nearly as exciting in writing as on film, but mostly because there hasn't been nearly enough Pontmercy-ing thus far. And that, dear friends, is just a tragedy.

MAR-E-S peered around the doorway of the small storage room adjacent to the control room, where it and Q4 had hidden after a group of galactic guards had taken over the control room. “Cosette isn’t answering on the comlink,” it told Q4 anxiously. “We need to get out there and see if they’ve been captured.”

Q4 whistled sharply, a tone of caution in the sound, clearly less than impressed with MAR-E-S’s logic. MAR-E-S hit it lightly on the head. “I know Master Cosette said to stay here, but she might be in real trouble! And we’re the only ones who can save her.”

Now Q4’s whistle was suspicious, and MAR-E-S glared at it. “I am _not_ suffering from delusions of affection! But Cosette is our master now, and…” It trailed off for a moment before adding, a little sadly, “I feel like my purpose was only suffering until I met her.”

If Q4 could’ve rolled its eyes —  well, if Q4 had eyes to roll, anyway —  it would have, but it didn’t matter, as MAR-E-S was already out the door, plodding into the middle of the control room. “Excuse me,” it started, polite as always despite the life or death situation both droids found themselves in, “but I believe the excitement has overrun the circuits of my counterpart.” It gestured toward Q4, who whined unhappily from its position in the shadows. MAR-E-S gestured emphatically, and Q4 reluctantly rolled forward. “If you don’t mind, I need to get it down maintenance to get it looked at.”

The closest guard glanced at the two, expression bored. “Yeah, go ahead,” he said, gesturing for them to leave.

Without hesitation, MAR-E-S strode forward, and after only a moment of hesitation, Q4 followed. As soon as they were out of earshot, MAR-E-S murmured, “We need to get to a computer so you can try to locate them.” 

This time, Q4 chose not to argue, instead heading to the closest scomplink and obediently plugging in. It was silent for a long moment before chirping. “Oh, thank goodness,” MAR-E-S said, almost sagging with relief. “They haven’t been captured.” It turned its head in the direction of the elevators, its voice turning abruptly worried. “But where could they be?”

* * *

 

Valjean approached the first terminal for the tractor beam, itching for action for the first time in decades. Thankfully, the guards meant to patrol the portal seemed lax, talking to each other far more than paying attention, and Valjean barely needed to draw on the Force to move unseen in front of them.

Suddenly, he felt a ripple in the Force, a very slight disturbance as if something small was suddenly out of line. He paused in his step where he was crouched merely feet from the guards, and, almost against his better judgment, reached out with the Force to see what had caused the ripple.

His precognition and general vision abilities had never been as well-developed as his own master’s, as his power lay in Force strength, but he could manage well enough to sense something amiss, especially with the Force twinging like this.

And as soon as he reached out, he had to bite back a groan, realizing what had gone wrong in his carefully constructed plan. He had expected Cosette to do something stupid —  it couldn’t be avoided, he could read the desire to _do_ something in her personality as much as it had been in her mother’s —  but he had hoped against hope that the droids might actually follow orders.

Instead, the sole chance for the Revolution to destroy the very battlestation they stood in had abandoned post in the control room and was roaming the halls, along with the golden idiot—

Valjean shook his head, stopping his train of thought before it could turn angry. He took a deep breath, focusing on clearing his emotions, and after a brief moment, he turned on heel, creeping away from the portal and his own mission, knowing that what was more important at the moment was saving those two droids from certain demise.

* * *

 

The slide down the garbage chute was quick and relatively painless, but it ended with Grantaire landing directly on top of Enjolras, who apparently hadn’t realized he had stepped back into the line of chute. They both went sprawling, tumbling together over the piles of trash, and ended up with Grantaire lying on top of Enjolras, essentially straddling him, his right hand clasping Enjolras’s left, and their faces mere inches apart.

“Um,” said Grantaire, a little breathily, because he couldn’t seem to summon any words, not this close to Enjolras and his very, very blue eyes and smooth skin and perfect, patrician nose. 

Enjolras squirmed slightly underneath him and Grantaire not only lost the ability to speak but also breathe. Enjolras cleared his throat, though all he seemed able to add was his own, slightly squashed, “Um.”

From across the room, Cosette was trying hard not to laugh, and Joly and Bossuet were giving each other quite knowing looks. After a long moment, though, Cosette cleared her throat and called out loudly, “If you two are quite finished, I could use a little help with this door.”

That was all it took to get Enjolras and Grantaire to scramble apart, both of them bright red and neither able to meet the other’s eyes. Enjolras quickly made a beeline for Cosette, which Grantaire couldn’t really complain about because it meant he got to watch Enjolras’s behind, which… Well, let’s just say the view from either end was breathtaking. 

But as he passed the Wookiees to help both Cosette and Enjolras, Grantaire couldn’t help but mutter, breathe one word of this later and I’ll turn you both into a fine, Wookiee-skin rug.”

* * *

 

Q4 whistled anxiously as it trailed after MAR-E-S, who was heading determinedly down the hall, despite having no real idea of where in the entire space station Cosette and the other might be. “You don’t understand,” MAR-E-S told Q4. “Seeing her —  it struck me to the very circuit with delight, like whoever made me _made_ me for this purpose.” 

Though Q4 made a noise that implied it had choked on its own oil, MAR-E-S carried doggedly on, marching further away from the control room. “You wouldn’t understand,” it told Q4. “Or perhaps you would. Think of the devotion you felt toward Jean Valjean.”

Now Q4 practically hissed, and MAR-E-S glared at it. “Strictly professional my shiny golden plating,” MAR-E-S muttered. “There are missions and then there are _missions_ and that—”

Q4 responded by running into it and MAR-E-S broke off as it hopped on one leg, clutching its other foot as it groaned.

Suddenly, both droids froze as they heard bootsteps approaching from further down the hallway. “In retrospect I may not have thought this plan all the way through,” MAR-E-S whispered.

They stayed frozen in almost comical poses as the bootsteps grew even closer, and they could just see the reflections of the polished white suits of the stormtroopers in the dark floor tiles when just as suddenly as they had started, the bootsteps stopped. “Forgive me, commander,” one of the troops said. “I just remembered — didn’t the admiral want to see us before we reported to the detention block?”

“Of course,” someone — presumably the commander — replied. “Troops, about face and on the double.” 

Now the bootsteps hurried in the opposite direction, and MAR-E-S and Q4 remained frozen in place until the sound finally receded. Then, as one, they breathed a collective sigh of relief as they unfroze. “That was a close one,” MAR-E-S told Q4, who beeped sullenly in response. “No, that doesn’t make sense — it’s not a reason to turn around but motive to carry on. We’ll just need to be more careful.”

Sadly, MAR-E-S didn’t take its own words seriously, instead making even more noise before as they turned down another hallway. This time, their luck had appeared to run out, as a gray-clad galactic guard approached them, frowning. “Where are you two—” he started, before a piece of pipe from the ceiling abruptly fell on his head, knocking him out. 

MAR-E-S stared at the guard’s still form. “Well,” it said out loud in its most prim tone, “we seem to be having a bit of luck for the first time in our miserable existence. Come along, Q4 — we must find Cosette while our luck holds.”

About eighteen paces behind them, lurking in the shadows, Valjean rolled his eyes so hard it was practically audible, grinding his teeth together as he continued to follow the two hapless droids. Granted, using the Force to keep the two droids undetected and undeterred by guards was not exactly difficult, especially for one of Valjean’s skill, but still — the two droids seem dedicated to getting themselves into trouble, especially since they appeared to be wandering further and further into the center of the space station.

Valjean wondered not for the first time why using the Force didn’t have the same effect on droids as it did on sentient lifeforms — he could to an extent control a droid’s physical movements, but couldn’t have an impact on their decision-making the way he could a human or other sentient being. He suspected it was because in that regard droids were more computer than human, but what computer would voluntarily abandon safety and disobey direct orders just to hunt down a human it had known for mere days? 

Then again, now was perhaps not the time to be concerned with the finer details of Force persuasion.

The droids carried on for a few more minutes before MAR-E-S paused, slumping against the wall. “It’s hopeless, Q4,” it moaned. “We’ll never find Cosette! We’ve lost her forever.”

Valjean paused in his step, wondering if he should step forward and perhaps let the poor droid off the hook, when suddenly, a door in the wall across from MAR-E-S opened, and Valjean shrank back to avoid being seen, already reaching out with the Force to use against whomever was there.

To his surprise, Cosette, Grantaire, Joly, Bossuet and the golden-haired man from the hologram spilled out of the doorway, covered in garbage and reeking to high heaven, but definitely alive. “Master Cosette, I found you!” MAR-E-S cried. “I knew it, Q4, I knew it!”

Cosette laughed and threw an arm around MAR-E-S’s metal shoulders. “Alive, disgusting, but with an addition to our merry band — though I suppose you two have already met Enjolras.”

Q4 beeped cheerfully and Enjolras laughed and patted its metal dome. “Good to see you, too.”

Grantaire tapped Cosette on the shoulder. “Not to cut the reunion short, but we need to make our way back to the ship.”

Enjolras threw him a look. “What’s this?” he asked, a mocking tone to his voice. “Actually taking some responsibility for once?”

“Keep this up and I will lock you back in the garbage compressor,” Grantaire grumbled. “And this time, I’ll make sure it’s operational.” 

Though Enjolras glared at Grantaire in response, from where he was watching, Valjean couldn’t help but smile. Yes, if he had a choice he probably wouldn’t have picked any of these idiots to surround Cosette with, but now that he saw them all standing there, alive and mostly unscathed, he knew that with friends like this on her side, Cosette would be safe and loved.

“I am ready, Fantine,” he whispered, placing a hand lightly on his chest over his heart. “I looked after her for as long as I could, but now it is her turn to care for herself.”

With that said, he turned and left, as sudden and silent as a shadow.

Cosette froze, her expression turning vacant, and Enjolras frowned, touching her arm. “Everything alright?”

Slowly, she shook her head, her eyes refocusing, and she smiled lightly at Enjolras. “Yeah. I just — I thought I felt something.” She glanced over at Grantaire. “You’re right. The sooner we get back to the ship, the better.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire bicker, the group separates like white teenagers in a horror film and are faced with various life-threatening situations. Just an average day on this battle station, it would seem.

With a stealth borne from years of Jedi reflex training, Valjean crept back towards the power terminal he had almost infiltrated before he had to go save the droids. The same stormtroopers seemed to be standing at attention (though admittedly, with their identical outfits, it was hard to tell if they were the same). Either way, neither noticed as he slipped around the first side of the terminal, trodding lightly on the narrow footbridge.

Not even a generous person would have considered Valjean technologically friendly, but these controls were made for stormtroopers -- so definitely not the best and brightest. Carefully, he lowered the levers helpfully labelled “POWER” from “ON” to “OFF”. The terminal whirred, its lights briefly flickering, and Valjean held his breath.

Then, they evened out and the machine returned to its usual hum, and Valjean exhaled, inching towards the other side to leave the terminal and complete the mission, freezing when he realized he was edging right into the stormtroopers’ line of sight.

* * *

 

Cosette bent down to grab the utility belt from the stromtrooper uniform she had just shed, and after glancing at her, Grantaire quickly bent to grab the same, belting it around his waist. “Well, I think if we can avoid any more royal orders, we might just make it out of here."

“Excuse me?” Enjolras said coldly. “I suppose I should be understanding of your ignorance but my ‘prince’ title brings with it no benefits and certainly not the designation of royalty.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, in that case, forgive me for my assumption, my liege.”

He made an elegant and mocking leg, and Enjolras scowled at him. Cosette quickly cleared her throat. “Let’s just get moving, shall we?”

Joly was helping Bossuet out of the garbage compressor but abruptly let the other Wookiee go, pointing and howling in distress. “Oh give the hypochondria a rest, would you?” Grantaire sighed. “It’s just garbage, it’s not—” Joly’s howl rose even higher in decibel level and Grantaire groaned and grabbed his blaster, firing into the garbage compressor. “The germs aren’t going to come out and get you, you big coward.”

Enjolras reached out and plucked the blaster from Grantaire’s hand, and Grantaire looked offended that Enjolras had managed this twice in less than an hour. “Are you trying to get us all killed?” he hissed, pointing the blaster back at Grantaire. “Look, I don’t know who you are, or where you came from, but from now on, you do as I tell you. Got it?”

Grantaire raised his hands in surrender, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he told Enjolras, mock-innocently, “Yes, please, monsieur, there’s no one else I’d rather take orders from.” He fluttered his eyelashes at him. “Have I been a bad boy who needs to be punished?”

For a moment, it looked like Enjolras might snap, but instead, he rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It’s a wonder you’re still alive.” He squared his shoulders and started to march off, pushing straight between Joly and Bossuet, who howled in protest. “Somebody get these big walking carpets out of my way!”

Staring after him, Grantaire muttered to Cosette, “Yeah, I think the whole ‘hostage falling for his rescuer’ thing isn’t going to happen here.”

“Hey, you never know,” Cosette said lightly. “At the moment, we just need to follow him, since I don’t think he has any clue where he’s going.”

Grantaire sighed. “Fine. But just so you know, if it comes down to it and it’s him or us, I will kill him.”

Cosette laughed. “Yeah, ok. Sure. Like you’d kill someone you can barely keep your eyes off of.” 

She started down the hallway after Enjolras, and Grantaire stared after her, spluttering, “Keep my eyes off — that’s insane, I just—” He stopped and shook his head. Joly growled helpfully, and Grantaire nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think you’re right, Jolllly. No reward is worth this.” Even so, he followed after both Enjolras and Cosette, keeping his blaster ready at his side.

* * *

 

Valjean held on to the terminal with all his strength, keeping as still as possible. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reaching out with the Force to trigger something that would draw their attention away, but before he could, he heard sudden bootsteps approaching. “You two are relieved from this post,” a stern voice informed them.

“Sir,” they said in unison, and Valjean could hear their steps retreating. He started to breathe a sigh of relief when the officer continued, “Secure this area until the alert is canceled. I want regular reports.”

With that said, more bootsteps hurried away, but Valjean didn’t move, realizing that there were more guards left behind. “Do you know what’s going on?” one of the guards in question asked.

“Maybe it’s another drill,” the second suggested.

Valjean took another deep breath, and this time followed through with his plan from before, knocking a pipe over down the hallway. As soon as the troopers turned toward the sound, Valjean darted away from the terminal and disappeared down the hallway. 

The stormtroopers turned back to their original positions. “What was that?” one asked.

The other shrugged. “I’m sure it was nothing. Best not to worry about it.”

* * *

 

Enjolras, Grantaire and Cosette drew to a stop in front of an upper-floor window overlooking the hangar, Joly and Bossuet staying further behind to guard their rear. “Well, there she is,” Grantaire said, a hint of pride in his voice.

“We have to figure out a way to get down there,” Cosette mused, while Enjolras arched an eyebrow and pointed down at the Musain.

“You came here in _that_ thing?” he asked, and when Grantaire nodded, said, a little incredulously, “You’re braver than I thought.”

Grantaire scowled at him. “Nice,” he snapped. “Let’s just get going.”

Without waiting, he strode down the hallway, and Cosette sighed. “He’s a little sensitive about his ship,” she told Enjolras. “You know, the ship that he flew here and the ship that he’ll fly you out on to rescue you from being killed by the Empire…”

Enjolras shrugged, a little shamefaced. “I didn’t mean…” he started, but stopped when Grantaire let out a yell from down the hallway, followed by a half-dozen blasts and Grantaire suddenly sprinting back towards them, pursued by roughly twenty stormtroopers.

“Take the droids and get back to the ship!” Grantaire shouted, firing over his shoulder into the crowd as he ran past and further down the hallway.

Cosette and Enjolras exchanged startled glances and Cosette shouted after him, “Where are you going? Come back!”

But Grantaire was already gone, and with no hesitation, Joly and Bossuet ran after him. Enjolras looked almost impressed. “Maybe he does have more courage than I thought.”

Cosette pulled her blaster out of her belt. “Yeah, and maybe he’s the one you should be telling that to,” she muttered. “And maybe you should have done it before he ran off to get himself killed. Let’s move.”

* * *

 

Grantaire reached a locked door and subsequent dead end in the hallway and stopped, panicking for a brief second until he whirled on the stormtroopers that were catching up to him and firing rapidly. He managed to fell the first line of troops, and thankfully, the troopers in the back didn’t realize what was happening, and ran full force into the bodies of their fallen comrades, falling over and knocking themselves out in the process. 

For a brief moment, Grantaire looked impressed with himself. Then the door behind him slid open and he turned to see a full battalion of stormtroopers staring at him, surprised.

“Oh,” Grantaire said, followed by, “Shit.” Then he fired off a mock-salute and added, “Toodles.”

With that said, he took off full-speed in the opposite direction, leaping over the bodies of the other stormtroopers. He ran past Joly and Bossuet, who yowled as they turned to follow him, all three pursued by the stormtroopers.

* * *

 

Cosette and Enjolras ran as fast as they could, since a few of the stormtroopers chasing Grantaire had broken off to pursue them. Q4 and MAR-E-S were following along as best they could, but Cosette could tell they weren’t going to last. “MAR-E-S,” she shouted as she ran, “take Q4 down the next hallway we pass. They aren’t after you.”

“I would prefer to stay with you, sir Cosette,” MAR-E-S told her, worried.

Cosette flashed a brief smile at him. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I’ve got my blaster, and I’ve got Enjolras. Now go!”

MAR-E-S would perhaps have resisted if it weren’t for Q4 ramming into the back of its legs, shoving it down the hallway and wheeling quickly after it.

Sure enough, the stormtroopers didn’t even watch them go, focusing on pursuing Cosette and Enjolras, who ducked through a door at the end of the hallway. They both instantly stopped, standing on a short platform above a deep exhaust shaft. “I think we took a wrong turn,” Cosette said.

Enjolras looked wildly around for the controls for the door, and quickly smashed the button on the wall. Though the door slid down, Enjolras glanced back at Cosette as he told her, “There’s no lock.”

Cosette didn’t hesitate, blasting the control panel with one short burst from her blaster. “That ought to hold them,” she said grimly.

Nodding approvingly, Enjolras edged towards the edge of the platform and glanced down. “We’ve got to find away across. There should be controls that extend the bridge somewhere.” 

Scratching the back of her neck, Cosette admitted, “I think I might have blasted them.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and was about to make a comment when the unmistakable sounds of drilling and pounding could be heard. “They’re coming through!”

For a brief moment, Cosette completely blanked on what to do, standing there numbly and panicking. Then, in a flash, she remembered the utility cable on the stormtrooper belt she had stolen. “I’ve got an idea!” she shouted, gesturing to Enjolras. “Quick, hold this.”

She handed him her blaster, and Enjolras didn’t even wait to see what she had planned, instead turning to aim at the door, which was slowly inching open. “Here they came,” he said in a low voice, opening fire as soon as the door opened.

Cosette quickly pulled all of the cable out and tossed it towards the beams above, grinning triumphantly when it looped around. She tested the tautness and then turned back to Enjolras, who was in the middle of firing multiple shots from both of his blasters. “Come on,” she said, and Enjolras squeezed off one more blast before turning back to her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

They both seemed to notice at the same moment how close they were to each other, and they just stared at each other for a moment, and then, inexplicably, Enjolras blushed. “I’d, uh, I’d give you a kiss for luck or something, but, well, I’m not really into girls,” he told her.

Cosette raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, that’s good, because I’m not really into kissing,” she informed him. “Now hold on tight and save that kiss for when we meet up with Grantaire.”

“Grantaire?” Enjolras spluttered, a dark look on his face. “What does he have to do with—”

He was cut off by Cosette swinging them off the ledge and across the abyss. For one long moment it seemed like they weren’t going to make it, but then they were across, and Cosette let out a whoop before detaching the cable. She grabbed her blaster back from Enjolras and simultaneously they turned and fired on the stormtroopers across the ledge as they slowly backed up and through the door.

* * *

 

Valjean lingered in the shadowy alcove down the hallway from the hangar. He could sense little activity from the hangar itself, which meant that Cosette and Grantaire were most likely not yet back.

Which meant they needed more time.

His lightsaber was out before he even realized it, his muscles reacting to the familiar chill that seemed to spread down his spine, and slowly, he straightened. “Fantine,” he said, softly. “Have you come for me, at last?”

In answer to his own question, he stepped out of the alcove and turned away from the hangar, turning to face the tall figure dressed all in black, who stared directly at him as the red blade of her lightsaber ignited.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The escape comes to its final stages, and a warrior meets his end.

Moeder slowly approached Valjean, who waited calmly for her, his lightsaber hilt loose in his hands and unignited. “I’ve been waiting for you, Valjean,” Moeder said in her low voice. “We meet again, at last. The circle is now complete.”

Valjean’s face betrayed no emotion as he finally lighted his saber, the blue blade shining brightly. Moeder did not halt in her step, still approaching him, her lightsaber at her side. “When I left you, I was but the learner. Now _I_ am the master.”

“Only a master of destruction,” Valjean said, a little sadly. “And that is no mastery at all.”

For a brief moment, the two stood, only a few paces apart, staring into each other’s eyes and sizing the other up. Valjean seemed perfectly relaxed, while Moeder was on edge, like a cat about to pounce. And pounce she did, lunging toward with a masterful stroke, but Valjean parried instantly, almost instinctively, taking a small step backwards as he did.

Moeder continued to attack, her blows growing in intensity and speed, and though Valjean met every stroke, he continued to back towards the hangar, his expression of serenity replaced by one of concentration. He swung his blade toward Moeder, who met his swing in mid-air. Their blades locked in mid-air, buzzing and crackling as the electricity sparked between the two swords. “Your powers are weak, old man,” Moeder told him, a touch of triumph in her voice.

“You can’t win,” Valjean replied calmly. “Striking me down is not victory. It will bring you no joy.”

Leaning in, Moeder hissed, “It has been a long time since anything brought me joy. I will settle instead for revenge.”

Valjean just shook his head. “And that is why you cannot win.”

Moeder snarled and swung her blade with new ferocity, Valjean still parrying her every blow as the fight continued.

* * *

 

Grantaire and the Wookiees burst out of one door into the hangar, and immediately to their right, Cosette and Enjolras burst through another door. They all stopped and stared at each other. “Fancy meeting you here,” Grantaire said. “What kept you?”

“We met some old friends,” Cosette said grimly. “Is the ship all right?”

Shrugging, Grantaire peeked around the barrels and bins that were conveniently hiding them from the hangar at large. “Seems to be, if we can get to it. And we better hope the old man got the tractor beam deactivated.”

“Look!” Enjolras said, suddenly, pointing across the hangar where they could see Valjean and Moeder locked in combat.

Cosette gasped loudly, instantly reaching for her blaster, but Grantaire grabbed her arm and pointed towards the ship. “Look!”

She turned to see Q4 and MAR-E-S heading towards the ship right in plain sight of the stormtroopers and groaned. “Those idiots,” she started, though she cut herself off and glanced back towards Valjean, fear clear in her expression.

She wasn’t the only one watching — the stormtroopers attention was diverted from watching the two rogue droids to staring at the lightsaber battle, some even openly pointing.

“Now’s our chance!” Grantaire said. “Hurry!”

They started sprinting towards the ship just as the troops, realizing that they were perhaps better served by stopping the fight rather than just watching, started towards Valjean, unholstering their blasters and aiming them. Valjean glanced at the oncoming troops, his expression tightening slightly. Moeder, sensing his distraction, brought her saber down, and Valjean only just managed to block her in time, turning as he did so that he faced the hangar head-on.

He met Cosette’s eyes across the hangar, and Cosette froze, staring at him in fear and shock. Valjean smiled, just slightly. “Think a little of me,” he whispered as he pushed the button to turn his lightsaber off, the blue blade disappearing almost instantly. “I die happy.”

“No!” Cosette screamed, as Moeder struck Valjean, cleaving him seemingly in half. She stood rooted to the spot in terror and shock, while the stormtroopers, hearing her shout, turned on her, aiming their blasters at them.

Cosette didn’t seem to notice, tears blinding her as she fired almost at random into the crowd, wanting desperately to hit the woman in black who had killed Valjean. She was so upset that she didn’t even notice that Valjean’s body had disappeared, that Moeder was prodding his now-empty robes.

She was so upset that she didn’t even feel Enjolras grab her elbow or shout to her over the sounds of blasters, “Come on! Cosette, it’s too late!”

“Blast the door!” Grantaire called from the Musain, where he was lowering the ramp. “Stop the troops!”

Enjolras dropped Cosette’s elbow, realizing what Grantaire had seen that they had missed. Behind Moeder, advancing towards the hangar, were hundreds more stormtroopers, more than they could ever hope to defeat. Without hesitation, he fired at the door control panel, and the door began sliding shut.

Moeder looked up, just now noticing what was happening, and Cosette let out a guttural, almost animalistic howl, aiming directly at her with the blaster in her hand. Despite the rapidly closing door and almost guarantee that she wouldn’t make it in time, Cosette started towards Moeder again, firing off a rapid succession of blasts.

This time, it wasn’t Enjolras or Grantaire who stopped her, but instead, in her head, as clearly as if he was standing next to her, Valjean’s voice said urgently, “Run, Cosette! Run!”

For just a moment, Cosette hesitated, staring at Moeder, anger and sorrow coursing through her veins. Then, almost against her better judgment, she turned and ran, ducking Imperial fire as she raced to the Musain.

* * *

 

Inside the cockpit, Grantaire was pushing buttons as quickly as he could, starting the ship up. “Valjean better have gotten rid of that tractor beam or this is going to be a real short trip. Joly, hit it!”

The Musain lifted off, turning quickly and shooting out of the hangar. “Well, that’s one thing down,” Grantaire said. “Now we just have to make sure we get into hyperspace and out of here!”

Down the hall in the common room, Cosette sank on to a bench, her grief like a pit in her stomach — close, but not yet real. Next to her, Enjolras sat down, his expression carefully blank. “I’m sorry about Valjean,” he said quietly.

Cosette glanced over him and managed a smile that was closer to a grimace. “I’m sorry too,” she said softly. “I lost Valjean, but you lost your entire planet.”

For a moment, a look of pain flashed over Enjolras’s face, and he closed his eyes. “I lost more than that,” he managed, finally, his voice defeated. “My father was still on the planet when the Empire destroyed it.”

Cosette reached out to grab Enjolras’s hand, squeezing it. “The Empire destroyed my family and yours,” she said.

“And they’ll destroy more if we don’t stop them,” Enjolras said, his voice hardening, his eyes like flint. “The sacrifice of my father — of my people — will be in vain if we don’t use this opportunity to stop them once and for all.”

Though Cosette squeezed his hand again, she couldn’t quite muster the same fire, tears welling in her eyes as she turned away. “I just can’t believe he’s gone. There was so much that I had left to learn, and now…”

She trailed off, and Grantaire poked his head into the room and cleared his throat, a little awkwardly. “We’re coming up on the sentry ships,” he said. “I’m gonna need some help if we’re going to get out of this.”

Enjolras glanced at Cosette and patted her shoulder as he stood. “I’ve got this,” he said bracingly. “Head to the cockpit and help the Wookiees. Not that they’ll need much help, I’m sure, but just in case.”

Cosette nodded, with a touch of her old resilience, and Enjolras turned back to Grantaire, who had an odd expression on his face. “Well, what are we waiting for?” Enjolras asked, flushing slightly. “Let’s get to the guns!”

Obediently, Grantaire turned and led Enjolras to the gunport, standing aside and bowing. “After you,” he said, with false courtesy.

Enjolras rolled his eyes but headed inside, climbing the ladder down to the gunport cockpit. Grantaire waited for him to get settled before climbing up the ladder to the topside gunport. He put his headset on and grabbed the controls. “You in, Prince?”

“You _really_ don’t need to call me that,” Enjolras replied through the headset, sounding even more annoyed through the crackle of the headset.

“Need to is subjective,” Grantaire replied, grinning. “Besides, maybe I just _want_ to.”

Over the intercom, Cosette cleared her throat. “Gentlemen, I hate to interrupt, but perhaps your animosity would be better spent taking down the Galactic Guard’s CANNON fighters.”

Grantaire laughed, a little embarrassed, and even Enjolras sounded like he was smiling as he replied, “Yes ma’am.” Then, abruptly, his voice changed to something far more serious as he said, “Here they come!”

Silence fell over the intercom as Grantaire and Enjolras concentrated on taking out the CANNON fighters. Enjolras made a few adjustments to the gun before reporting, a little anxiously, “They’re coming in too fast!”

Sure enough, laserbolts hit the Musain, and the entire ship shuddered. In the cockpit, Cosette punched a button and told Joly, “Divert as much power as we can spare to the deflector shields!” To Bossuet, she ordered, “Get us into hyperspace as quickly as possible.”

“They know what they’re doing,” Grantaire grunted, firing rapidly at a ship. “Which is more than I can say for these Imperial fighters.”

Another blast rocked the ship and Enjolras said stiffly, “Evidently they’re doing something right.”

Grantaire’s retort was cut off by Cosette, who reported, “We’ve lost lateral controls!”

“Don’t worry, she’ll hold together,” Grantaire said, reaching out to pet the console and urge under his breath, “Come on, baby, hold together. You can do it.”

Enjolras finally hit one of the fighters, which spun off into space before exploding, and he whooped. “I got him!”

Grantaire leaned back to make eye contact with Enjolras through the gunport hallway, and gave him a small salute. “Well done,” he said.

“Why, is that sincerity I hear?” Enjolras asked, grinning.

Grantaire rolled his eyes before firing and hitting a ship of his own. “Don’t worry, it won’t last,” he said.

Cosette broke in again. “There’s two more of them out there!”

Grantaire and Enjolras looked out their respective cockpits. “What do you say?” Grantaire asked. “You take one and I’ll take the other?”

“Seems fair,” Enjolras said.

“Equal, even,” Grantaire added with an air of innocence. “Fraternal. Maybe even a little liberating.”

Enjolras scowled. “Are you mocking me?”

Grantaire fired a few quick blasts. “Who, me?” he asked. “In what world would I mock you?”

“We’re in space,” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire smirked. “Touché.” He aimed at the CANNON fighter. “On the count of three: One — Two — Three!”

Both fired, and both hit their marks, the ships exploding. “Hell yes!” Grantaire shouted, while Enjolras whooped loudly. In the cockpit, it was hard to say who was howling louder between Cosette and the two Wookiees as they did an awkward, three-way hug.  
  
“Bossuet, hit it!” Grantaire ordered before tugging his headset off and climbing out of the cockpit. He met Enjolras in the hallway outside and before he could think better, grabbed him and pulled him into a hug.

For a moment, Enjolras was stiff, then, unexpectedly, returned the hug with surprising enthusiasm. They broke apart after a brief moment, and neither seemed able to meet the other’s eyes. “Well,” Grantaire said, a little gruffly. “We best get to the cockpit. After all, we need you to tell us where the hell we’re going.”

Enjolras nodded slowly and followed Grantaire toward the cockpit. Grantaire banged on an intercom as they passed it. “What are you waiting on?” he asked. “Get a move on, we’ll figure out a proper course as soon as we’re away.”

He was greeted by a loud growl, and the ship jumped to hyperspace, leaving the EDLM and the remains of Saint-Sever behind.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter may be short, but we've got an E/R fight, the introduction of Combeferre, and the set-up for the final battle all in one short chapter, so it's got it where it counts.

Darth Moeder strolled into the control room of the EDLM, stopping to stare at Fameuil, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Are they away?” he asked without looking up from the view screen.

“They have just made the jump into hyperspace,” Moeder reported.

Now Fameuil did turn, his brow furrowed. “You’re sure the homing beacon is secure aboard their ship? I’m taking an awful risk, Moeder. This had better work.”

Moeder did not flinch. “You did not believe me about Valjean, and I was right then,” she said, her voice low. “I am right now. And we will not fail.”

* * *

 

Grantaire leaned back in his seat, propping his feet up on the console and putting his hands behind his head. “All in all, not a bad bit of rescuing,” he said cheerfully to Enjolras, who was sitting behind him in the cockpit. “You know, sometimes I amaze even myself.”

Enjolras snorted. “That doesn’t sound too hard.” He raised an eyebrow at Grantaire, who had swiveled around to grin at him. “They let us go. It’s the only explanation for how easy that was.”

“Easy?” Grantaire repeated, his grin slipping off of his face. “You call that _easy_?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “They’re tracking us. Which means the sooner we get Q4 back to base, the better.”

Grantaire frowned and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What’s that little droid carrying that’s so important anyway?”

Pointing behind him in the general direction of the EDLM they had left behind, Enjolras said heatedly, “The technical readouts of that battle station! Our entire Revolution relies on being able to take that thing out, so I hope that when the data is analyzed, a weakness can be found. This isn’t over yet.”

Abruptly, Grantaire stood, his expression hardening. “It is for me,” he said, striding away from the cockpit.

Enjolras stared after him. “I better—” he started, then broke off.

Cosette focused on staring out the window as she said carefully, “Yeah, you should.”

Hesitating for only a brief moment more, Enjolras stood and followed Grantaire out, a brow furrowing his forehead. “Look, I didn’t mean—” he started, when he had caught up with Grantaire, though he quickly stopped when he saw the closed look on Grantaire’s face.

“Listen,” Grantaire said, his voice low, “I ain’t in this for your revolution. What does a revolution prove? This entire universe is a great piece of stupidity, with one half set to massacre the other and vice-versa.”

Enjolras shook his head. “But we can win,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “With this data in Q4—” 

Grantaire shook his head as well, heading for the ship’s canteen. “I don’t attach much importance to victory,” he said, rummaging in a cabinet for a bottle of grog. He pulled the cork out with his mouth and spit it aside before taking a long drink. “Everything is badly arranged. This whole universe is warped, and a tease — I’ll take my stand on my side, and no one else’s.”

A muscle worked in Enjolras’s jaw before he asked coldly, “And what about the people that the Empire will kill? Have killed? Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Grantaire took another sip of grog and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “And what of the people the Revolution will kill?” he shot back. “Have killed? Do you think every soldier on that battle station is there voluntarily? Or do they not count in your grand equation?”

Enjolras took a step away, looking hurt for a moment before his expression evened out. “If you don’t want to help us, then why do this at all?”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire was going to give a smart answer, then he deflated and shook his head. “I owe a debt,” he said quietly, running a hand through his hair. “And this was meant to pay that.”

Instead of sympathizing, Enjolras’s expression hardened, and he took another step back. “Well, you needn’t worry about your reward,” he spat. “If money is all you’re after, then that’s what you’ll get.”

With that said, he turned and marched away, passing Cosette, who was coming back to check on them. “Your friend is quite a mercenary, and a cynic to boot,” he snapped. “I wonder what he cares about besides his drink.”  
  
“I’m sure he cares about a lot,” Cosette started, but Enjolras had already brushed past her towards the cockpit. Shaking her head, Cosette continued on to the canteen, where Grantaire had sat down at the tiny table, the bottle of grog in front of him. Cosette sat across from him, propping her chin on her hand. “So that went well.”

Grantaire shook his head, looking away from her. “I’m trying not to think of it,” he muttered. Then, suddenly, an edge of desperation to the question, he blurted, “Do you think a prince and a guy like me—”

He broke off before he even got the question out. “Stupid,” he muttered, grabbing the grog and taking a swig. “I already know the answer.”

He stood and left the canteen. Cosette stared after him, a strange look on her face. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I do.”

* * *

             

“So, where are we again?” Cosette asked Enjolras in an undertone as they debarked the Musain.

Enjolras smiled grimly. “What, you don’t recognize it?” he teased. “We are on one of the moons of Rue de la Chanvrerie, affectionately nicknamed ‘the Barricade’.”

“Affectionately nicknamed by whom?” Grantaire grumbled.

“By—” Enjolras broke off, a giant grin spreading across his face, and he waved wildly at someone in the crowd that had come to meet them. “By Combeferre!”

The man in question pushed to the front of the crowd, beaming, and he grabbed Enjolras and pulled him into a hug. “Damn,” he said, gripping the back of Enjolras’s shirt. “When we heard about Saint-Sever, we feared the worst.”

The look on Grantaire’s face could have curdled milk, but Enjolras quickly took a step back from Combeferre, his expression suddenly serious, and he addressed the greeting committee as a whole. “General Lamarque is dead,” he announced, and a hush fell over the assembled rebels. “But this is not the time for sorrow. Instead, this is a sign that now is the time to act. The Galactic Guard will undoubtedly trace us here, which means we must take the offensive against them. This Q4 unit contains the plans we will use for our attack. We alone can use this moment to rally the star systems teetering on the edge of rebellion, and if my father’s death meant anything, he would be honored if it was that.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, suddenly, raucous applause met his speech, and the entire platform burst into cheers. Cosette was quick to join, cheering until her voice was hoarse, but Grantaire stayed silent, an odd look on his face.

* * *

 

Fameuil checked their position on a star chart, Moeder standing over his shoulder, when the comlink buzzed. “Yes?” Fameuil asked tersely.

“Excuse me, sir,” a voice said. “We are approaching the planet Rue de la Chanvrerie. The Revolution base is on a moon on the far side. We are preparing to enter orbit around the planet.”

The comlink clicked off and Fameuil turned to face Moeder, a small smile on his face. “”We shall crush them once and for all,” he said.

Moeder nodded her head, her hand closing into a fist. “This is the end of the Revolution,” she declared. “And the Sith shall rule the universe.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More bickering, more planning, and Grantaire has a vague ambition to get the hell out of Dodge before they're all killed. Maybe cut him some slack, Enjolras - it can't be easy to live with a price on your head while also being worried that ~~the love of your life~~ some annoying jerk you just rescued is going to wind up getting himself killed.

Combeferre stood in front of the room, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the room. Enjolras sat with a row of dignitaries in the front, while Cosette had found some other pilots to sit with. And in the back of the room, arms crossed in front of his chest and watching Enjolras with hooded eyes, Grantaire sat between Joly and Bossuet.

Clearing his throat, Combeferre gestured towards the display screen, which instantly projected a 3-dimensional image of the EDLM. “The battle station is heavily shielded and carries a firepower greater than half the star fleet. Its defenses are designed are a direct, large-scale assault, which means that a small, one-person fighter should be able to penetrate the outer defense.”

One of the pilots raised his hand before standing to address Combeferre, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she did. “Pardon me for asking, but what good are small fighters going to be against that?”

“An analysis of the plans provided by Prince Enjolras has demonstrated a weakness in the battle station, a weakness that can be exploited by a small fighter, for which the battle station isn’t properly equipped to stop.” Combeferre gestured and the image spun and zoomed in to reveal a trench on the station’s surface. “The approach will not be easy,” he warned. “You are required to maneuver down this trench and skim the surface to this point.” He pointed and the image zoomed in even further. “The target is a thermal exhaust port, and it’s small, only two meters wide. The shaft leads directly to the reactor system. A precise hit will start a chain reaction which should destroy the station from within.”

A murmur of disbelief broke out through the room, with many of the pilots exchanging dubious glances. Combeferre cleared his throat and after a long moment the chatter died down. “Only a precise hit will set up a chain reaction,” he cautioned, before adding, slightly reluctantly, “The shaft is ray-shielded, so you’ll have to use proton torpedoes.”

The pilot next to Cosette, a tall, willowy man who looked all of about twelve years old, snorted incredulously. “That’s impossible!” he exclaimed. “Even a computer couldn’t manage that.”

Cosette nudged him gently in the ribs. “It’s not impossible,” she said. “I used to bullseye womp rats in my T-16 back home, and they’re not much bigger than two meters.”

The man looked at him closely for a moment, then grinned and stuck out his hand for Cosette to shake. “Well, if you think you can do it, I’d be glad to fight next to you, get just a taste of your glory. I’m Prouvaire, by the way, Jehan Prouvaire.”

“Cosette,” Cosette provided, hiding a smile. “What would your friends say about you following a girl into battle?”

Jehan looked surprised, then laughed. “They probably wouldn’t be surprised,” he mused, “but I’m a firm believer that strength is found in multiple forms, and being intrepid sometimes means knowing when to follow someone stronger and possibly better.”

Cosette grinned. “I like the sound of that,” she said. “For that, you can be my wingman any time.”

Combeferre raised his voice over the crowd. “Man your ships!” he called. “And may the Force be with you!”

* * *

  
  
Grantaire was loading some small bins onto the Musain with force than was perhaps necessary, deliberately ignoring the flurry of activity around him in the hangar as pilots raced to their spacefighters. Over the loudspeaker, a voice commanded, “All flight troopers, man your stations. I repeat, all flight troops, man your stations.”

Behind Grantaire, Enjolras cleared his throat, his expression dark. “So you’re leaving, are you?” he asked, a little rudely.

Grantaire stiffened but didn’t turn. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s exactly what I’m doing, and if you were smart—” He turned and immediately froze, staring at Enjolras before spluttering, “What the hell are you wearing?”

Enjolras glanced down at himself and frowned. “What?” he asked, smoothing the front of his pilot jumpsuit. “I’m leading one of the squadrons of fighters.”

If anything, that answer made things worse, as Grantaire openly gaped at him, his face an alarming shade of red. Then, suddenly, he blurted, “But you _can’t_ do that!”

“Can’t?” Enjolras repeated, a dangerous lilt to the question. “What do you mean, I _can’t_?”

“I just mean—” Grantaire stopped, a muscle working in his jaw before shaking his head and looking away while he muttered, “I just meant that it’s going to be dangerous.

Enjolras shook his head, scowling. “So what do you suggest I do, run? Like you?” Grantaire shook his head as well, and Enjolras continued, his voice sharp and angry, “You know what we’re up against, more than most. We could use a good pilot like you. You could...I don’t know, you could actually be worth something!”

“As opposed to now, when I’m worthless?” Grantaire supplied, a little dully.

Shaking his head again, Enjolras said in a softer voice, “I didn’t mean…” He trailed off. “I just — don’t you want to be good for something?”

Grantaire snorted. “Sure. I have a vague ambition in that direction. But this, what you think you’re going to do?” He shook his head. “I don’t call that being worthwhile, or good for something. I call that suicide.”

Enjolras recoiled, his cheeks flushing pink, and he swallowed hard before saying crisply, “Well, then. Take care of yourself, Grantaire, since I guess that’s what you’re best at.”

With that said, he turned on heel and stalked off, almost hitting Cosette as he did. “What’s wrong?” she asked, grabbing his arm to stop him.

Shrugging, Enjolras jerked his head towards Grantaire, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. “It’s Grantaire. I just...I thought he might change his mind.”

“He’s got to follow his own path,” Cosette told him gently. “But if it helps, I’ll talk to him. Try to smooth things over.”

Enjolras shrugged again. “Honestly, I don’t know what help any of it will be at this point,” he muttered, then shook his head. “Either way, I’ve got a squadron to prep, so Corinthe Five, if you’re going to talk to a civilian, do it quickly before getting to your ship.”

Cosette snorted but still gave Enjolras an almost respectable salute before heading over to Grantaire, who looked miserable. “So that went well,” she said.

Grantaire shrugged moodily. “I’ve got debts to pay off,” he muttered. “And besides, this whole damn thing — it’s a foolish idea and I’m not gonna stick around to watch everyone get killed.” Cosette shook her head but didn’t say anything and after a moment, Grantaire sighed, forced a smile on his face and punched her lightly on the shoulder. “You could always come with me,” he suggested. “You’re pretty good in a fight. I could use you.”

“And you’re a pretty good pilot,” Cosette said calmly. “ _They_ could use _you._ ” She paused before adding, a little softer, “ _We_ could use you.”

For a moment, they both just looked at each. Then, realizing they were at an impasse, Cosette clapped Grantaire wordlessly on the shoulder before heading to her ship. After a moment, Grantaire called after her, “Hey, Cosette — May the Force be with you!”

Though Cosette managed a smile and wave at that, when she turned back around, her smile slid off her face. “I wish Valjean was here,” she muttered, putting her head down as she headed towards her ship. 

Suddenly, someone grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up into a huge hug. Cosette let out a squeak of surprise before realizing who it was and practically squealing as she returned the hug. “Cosette!” Éponine exclaimed. “I can barely believe it!”

“Ép!” Cosette said, giving her another hug. “I can’t believe I’ll be fighting up there with you! And man, have I got some stories to tell you!”

Enjolras headed over, his helmet tucked under his arm. “I see you two know each other.”

Cosette grinned and put her arm around Éponine’s shoulder. “This is Éponine — she’s one of my oldest friends, and the second-best bushpilot in the outer territories.”

Éponine elbowed her in the ribs and scowled. “Second best?”

“Well, yeah, I’m the first,” Cosette told her, grinning.

For a moment, Enjolras’s expression softened, but then he caught sight of Grantaire in the background and his face hardened again. “Well, if Cosette says you’re good, I trust her. Both of you, get to your ships.”

He headed to his own fighter, and Éponine grabbed Cosette’s arm. “Listen, I’ve got to go, so you’ll have to tell me your stories when we get back, alright?”

Cosette nodded and pulled Éponine close once more before telling her, “I told you I’d make it some day.”

“And you did,” Éponine said, her voice soft. “It’s gonna be like old times out there.” She grinned and winked at Cosette. “We’re a couple of shooting stars that’ll never be stopped!”

Miming throwing up at the saccharine sentiment, Cosette finally made her way to her ship, a Barricade-class, single-pilot craft. She patted Q4 on the head and nodded to the crew chief who was prepping the ship. “Your Q4 unit seems a little beat up. Do you want a new one?”

Cosette shook her head and laughed. “Not on your life! That little droid and I have been through a lot together. Isn’t that right, Q4?” 

Q4 whistled cheerfully in response, and Cosette grinned as she climbed in the cockpit of the starship. The chief started to prepare Q4 to be loaded onto the ship, but MAR-E-S stopped them, patting Q4 lightly on its dome. “Now you must come back to me, do you understand?” it said, worriedly. “You wouldn’t want my life to get boring, would you?”

Though Q4 did no more than beep reassuringly, it was seemingly enough, as MAR-E-S stepped aside and let final preparations for the approaching battle get underway. Cosette looked out across the hangar, abuzz with last minute activity as everyone made final adjustments. Finally, a signalman started directing the planes, and Cosette pulled her goggles down and shut the cockpit ceiling before taking a deep, calming breath. Suddenly, as clear as day, she heard Valjean’s voice echoing through her helmet. “Cosette, the Force will be with you.”

Though she tapped her helmet, Cosette didn’t get much time to think about what this might mean as the signalman directed her to taxi for takeoff, and all thoughts of Valjean quickly fled at the thought of the fight to come.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Another One Bites the Dust" plays sadly in the distance as we lose another character in the first attack run against the EDLM. Hum a few bars of "A Little Fall of Rain" while reading and pour one out for the fallen comrades when done.

The Barricade fighters flew in formation toward the EDLM as it slowly moved in orbit around Rue de la Chanvrerie, approaching the moon with the Les Amis base. Cosette took a deep breath and flexed her fingers before grabbing the controls. “How are you doing, Q4?” she called, smiling when Q4 beeped a witty response.

Over her headset, Enjolras’s voice crackled. “This is Corinthe Leader,” he said before ordering, “All wings report in.”

One by one each of the other Barricade-class fighters reported in over the mics. “Corinthe Ten standing by.” “Corinthe Seven standing by.” “Corinthe Nine standing by.”

Cosette couldn’t help but smile when she heard Éponine’s voice loudly in her ear. “Corinthe Three standing by.”

Her smile grew even wider when she heard Jehan say in his strangely confident way, “Corinthe Two standing by,” and then she added her own, “Corinthe Five, standing by.”

The fighters finished running through the ranks and then Enjolras told them, “Lock S-foils in attack positions.” As one, the fighters moved into attack formation, and Enjolras’s voice turned grim as he told them, “We’re passing through their magnetic field. Hold on tight!” 

The EDLM grew even larger as they approached, and Jehan whistled lowly. “Holy shit,” he said, echoing what many of them were thinking. “Look at the size of that thing!”

Cosette laughed, and she wasn’t alone, the laughter cutting the tension that had been building since they had taken off from Rue de la Chanvrerie. Enjolras let them all laugh for a moment before he rebuked, in a gentler tone than some might have expected, “Cut the chatter, Corinthe Two.” Silence fell again, even more strained this time, until finally, they had approached the point where their view was more battle station than stars, and Enjolras said, his own voice low, “This is it, comrades. Accelerate to attack speed!”  
  
There was no chance of laughter now as the Barricade fighters started to approach. Enjolras sounded even more serious than before when he reported, “We’re in position. Corinthe Ten, Corinthe Seven, follow me — we’re going to cut across the axis and try to draw their fire away from the attack trench.”  
  
The three ships peeled off as the rest continued their approach, ready finally to attack the gray expanse of the massive station. In preemptive response, the EDLM turrets turned to open fire on the ships. “Heavy fire, twenty-degrees,” Jehan reported, all humor gone from his voice.

“I see it,” Enjolras said, equally grim. “Stay low.”

Cosette glanced over at Jehan, but he seemed able to handle himself. She turned her attention back to the space station and took a deep breath before saying, with far more confidence than she felt, “This is Corinthe Five — I’m going in.”

She opened fired as she went, aiming for one of the large turrets, grinning with a grim satisfaction when her lasers met their mark. The turret exploded and Cosette’s grin turned genuine, though it was quickly replaced by something far closer to fear when Jehan’s voice broke through her concentration. “Corinthe Five, you’ve got someone on your six!”

Her attention had been so focused that she hadn’t even noticed the CANNON fighter make its move, and she twisted her head around, trying to see where it was. “I can’t see it!” she said, panicked. “Where is it?”

She turned her ship as tightly as she could, coming out of her dive and jettisoning away from the surface of the EDLM. She could see bursts around her, assumedly from the CANNON fighter behind her, but thankfully, they were narrow misses. Still, that wasn’t enough to reassure Cosette, who still craned her neck around, trying to figure out the best way to avoid the fighter. “He’s on me tight,” she said nervously. “I can’t shake him!”

The CANNON fighter swung around and the breath seemed to catch in Cosette’s throat as she stared what could literally be her imminent demise in the face. Then, out of nowhere, Éponine’s voice broke through. “Hang in there, I’m coming,” she said, and Cosette found that she was able to breathe again.

And like that, she was gone, diving again to get out of the CANNON fighter’s line of fire. She could just see Éponine, gaining quickly on the CANNON ship, and she only hoped that Ép would get there in time.  
  
Just as quickly as it had started, it seemed, it was all over, the ship behind Cosette bursting into flames as Éponine went out a whoop. “I’ve got you,” Éponine told Cosette, equal parts cocky and comforting, and Cosette took the moment to wipe the sweat from her face. “But be more careful, would you, squirt? Next time I might not be here to save your ass.”

Cosette laughed, a little shakily. “Don’t even joke like that,” she warned as together, they made their way back to formation.

* * *

 

The EDLM shook with each blast, its walls buckling and caving. Troops ran around with no clear direction, some knocked down or worse by the blasts. Officers staggered about, weaving in and out of the rubble.

Darth Moeder stood surveying the chaos, impassive and calm as always, her arms crossed in front of her chest. An officer ran — or rather, staggered — up to her, gasping for breath as he saluted. “We counted thirty Revolution ships, Lady Moeder,” the officer managed finally. “But the ships are too small — they’re avoiding our turbo-lasers.”

Moeder inclined her head slightly, and the rhythmic sound of her breathing seemed to quicken. “We shall have to destroy them ship by ship,” she told him. “Get the crews to their fighters. There is work to be done.”

* * *

  
  
Cosette and Éponine finally made it back to formation, and Enjolras’s voice crackled over her headset. “Corinthe Five, take a breather for a moment, but let me know when you’re ready to go in. Corinthe Three, join Corinthe Nine and Seven to prepare for your attack run. And watch yourselves — there’s a lot of fire coming from the right side of that deflection tower.”

“I’m on it,” Éponine said determinedly, piloting away from Cosette to join the two other ships.

Cosette followed Enjolras’s orders, hanging back and taking a few deep, calming breaths. “How are you doing, Q4?” she asked, willing her voice not to shake, and was pleasantly surprised when it mostly didn’t.

Q4 trilled a comforting response, and Cosette smiled mechanically, though it felt like what little joy she had left was slowly slipping away. All their ships, against a battle station this big? She couldn’t help but feel a little like Grantaire — it was hopeless.

Suddenly, Enjolras voice barked over the headset, “Corinthe Five, we’ve picked up a new group of signals. Enemy fighters coming your way.” 

Cosette glanced around, her hands already back on the controls. “My scope’s negative,” she reported. “I don’t see anything.”

“Keep up your visual scanning,” Enjolras told her. “With all this hamming, they’ll be on top of you before your scope can pick them up, and by then it will be too late.”  
  
As if Enjolras’s words were prophetic, Cosette saw the CANNON fighter, a moment too late. A blast clipped the wing of Cosette’s ship, igniting a small fire. “I’m hit!” she said, maneuvering out of the line of fire. “It’s not bad.”

“Do you need assistance?” Enjolras asked, concerned.

Cosette shook her head as she told him, “No, I’m alright. Q4, see what you can do with it. And hang tight back there — you know I’d be lost without you!”

* * *

 

Darth Moeder strode purposefully down the corridor, pulling on her flight gloves as she went. A group of Galactic pilots ran up to meet her, saluting once they arrived. “Several fighters have broken off from the main group,” Moeder told them, her voice calm and collected. “I believe they intend on leading a direct attack on this battle station, which makes them our most important target.”

She turned to gaze at the soldiers around her, none of whom looked fazed by this and all of whom instantly snapped to attention, and she allowed herself one triumphant moment staring at each of them directly before she turned to head to her ship.  


* * *

 

Éponine sounded calm and confident as she told Enjolras, “Corinthe Leader, this is Corinthe Three. We’re starting our attack run on the EDLM trench.”

“I copy, Corinthe Three,” Enjolras replied. “Move into position.”

The three Barricade class ships descended as one towards the trench, maneuvering deftly past the surface turrets. Once they were in the trench, there appeared to be few defenses left to stop them, and Éponine adjusted the dial on her computer before reporting, “The exhaust port is marked and locked in.”

As they continued down the trench, they encountered more turrets, aimed directly at them, and Corinthe Nine ordered, “Divert all power to front deflector shields. These laser turrets are our biggest obstacle at the moment.”

“How many guns are there, Corinthe Nine?” Enjolras asked.

“I’d say about twenty, some on the surface and some in the towers.”

Éponine cut in smoothly. “Nothing we can’t handle, to be sure.”

In fact, only a few minutes into their attack run, things were going so smoothly that Corinthe Seven pulled down his computer targeting device in preparation of reaching the exhaust port. “Switching to targeting computer,” he told them. “Computer’s locked, signal received.”

All of a sudden, the laser blasts from the tower and turrets stopped, and Éponine said, a bit obviously, “The guns — they’ve stopped!” She took a deep breath before saying, “Stabilize your rear deflectors, and watch for enemy fighters.”

“They’re coming in,” Corinthe Nine reported grimly. “Three marks on our six.”

Without warning, Corinthe Nine burst into a thousand pieces, the blast from the Galactic fighters hitting home. Éponine swore under her breath and glanced behind her at the three fighters that had appeared out of nowhere, two standard CANNON fighters flanking a newer, more advanced CAPTAIN-class ship. “Careful,” she warned, flipping a switch overhead on the console.

Despite her warning, Corinthe Seven seemed to be panicking. “I can’t maneuver!” he exclaimed, his ship shaking from side to side, and Éponine swallowed hard. 

“Stay on target,” she said, as soothingly as she could manage, her hands shaking against her own controls.

Corinthe Seven clearly didn’t seem convinced as he reported in a high-pitched voice, “We’re too close to the target!”

Éponine shook her head. “Stay on target!” she repeated, a touch of desperation to her voice.

In the end, it didn’t matter; Corinthe Seven exploded into flames, sending shrapnel ricocheting off the trench walls. Éponine gritted her teeth as she avoided the blast, and she closed her eyes for a brief moment before saying, in a voice choked with emotion, “Corinthe Three to Corinthe Leader. I’ve lose Corinthe Seven and Corinthe Nine.”

Away from the main action, Cosette froze, hearing Éponine’s voice and realizing, perhaps against her own wishes, the emotions contained within. Enjolras’s voice was resigned as he responded, “I copy, Corinthe Three.”  
  
Éponine glanced toward the exhaust port, close enough that she could have fired at it, were it not for the Galactic ships on her tail, and she reported the last bit of useful information that she possibly could: “They came from...behind…”

Then her ship was hit, the blast sending it spinning towards the trench wall, where it connected and burst into a fireball.

Cosette gasped audibly, and quickly punched the ‘mute’ button on her dash before she burst into tears for everyone to hear. Just like that...Éponine was gone.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse and if it weren't for the fact that everyone already knows who does and doesn't die, this would probably be a lot more nerve-wracking. Also I realize as I'm typing this that I missed a golden opportunity to make an allusion to "the only barricade left" and goddamnit now I'm kicking myself. Ah well.

Fameuil observed the battle from the safe distance of the EDLM control room, rather impassively watching the red and green laser bolts and explosions as if they were nothing more than a slightly boring light show. From behind him, an officer cleared his throat. “Sir, we’ve analyzed their attack, and there is a danger.”

Turning only slightly, Fameuil favored him with a lingering look of contempt. “Really?” he asked coldly.

“Yes sir,” the officer said, after audibly swallowing. “There’s a weakness in one of the external exhaust valves and if properly hit, it could spell disaster for the entire station.” He paused as if waiting for a comment from Fameuil before asking hesitantly, “Do you want me to get ship ready and standing by in case of evacuation?”

If anything, Fameuil looked amused by the news. “Evacuate?” he repeated, turning back to the window. “In our moment of triumph? I think you overestimate their chances.”

The officer saluted before making a hasty escape, and Fameuil glanced ofer at the computer screen and the projected image of the moon on the far side of planet. As if reading his mind, the computer stated, “Revolution base, three minutes and counting.” 

Fameuil turned back to the window and smiled.

* * *

 

“Corinthe Group, this is Corinthe Leader,” Enjolras said, his own voice sounding a little shaky as he addressed what remained of his squadron. “Rendezvous at mark point six.” Then, on a private channel, he asked Cosette quietly, “Are you alright, Corinthe Five?”

Cosette blinked back what remained of her tears, her hands shaking as she turned her ship toward the rendezvous point. “Fine,” she replied, unable to give a longer response without her voice betraying her.

She was not fine. Instead, she was reminded of Grantaire’s bitter words and left feeling wounded and twisted inside because his worst predictions seemed to be coming true. Grief and sorrow threatened to consume her, and she wondered of the other, remaining. Surely there had been friends among them, so why did none of them seem to feel the way that she did?

For a brief moment, she thought of Valjean, of the Force, how he had spoken once of no one really dying, but instead becoming one with the Force. At the time, she had found the thought comforting, reeling as she had been from the death of her aunt and uncle, but now the thought was just a hollow reminder of how much she had lost. Valjean was dead, Éponine was dead, and the part of Cosette’s soul that was goodness and light seemed to heading that way as well.

But she didn’t say any of this, instead switching back to the broadcast channel on her intercom. “This is Corinthe Five, flying toward you.”

A ship flew to her right, and she glanced over, surprised and a little happy to see that it was Jehan, who saluted her before saying, “Corinthe Two, standing by.” 

Combeferre’s voice spoke next, his brisk tone betraying nothing about the mood down in the base. “Corinthe Leader, this is Base One. Keep half of your remaining group out of range for the next run.” 

Cosette glanced around at the few ships that remained. Half of the group...that wouldn’t be enough, not for another attack run. As if sensing her thought, Enjolras told Combeferre, “We have too few remaining ships. I’ll take Corinthe Ten and Twelve on my run. Corinthe Five and Two, watch our six for those fighters and prepare for your own run. Whoever makes it out from our run will circle back and join you.”

It was all Cosette could do to choke back the sob she felt building in her chest because while Enjolras’s words might sound brave and determined, she knew that the chances of someone circling back were slim to none, and she wasn’t sure she could take losing another friend today. “Yes sir,” she whispered, thankful that the helmet would hide her tears from anyone who flew too closely.

The helmet didn’t hide her voice, though, and Enjolras switched back to the private channel. “Cosette,” he said, gently, gentler than he had any right being considering the numerous battles still going on around them, considering the number of comrades they had both watched die. “It’ll be fine.”

“You can’t make that promise,” she told him, more steel than she intended in her voice.

“No,” he said, still gently, “but I would never voluntarily prove that mercenary asshole Grantaire right. Ok?”

Despite the almost blinding loss she still felt from the death of both Valjean and Éponine — or, perhaps, in a strange way, because of it — Cosette laughed, and reached up to hastily wipe away her tears. “I suppose you wouldn’t.” She switched back to the open channel before telling him, far more confidence in her voice, “May the Force be with you.”  
  
In his own cockpit, Enjolras took a deep, calming breath before signaling to Corinthe Ten and Twelve to follow him as he dove to the surface of the EDLM. “This is it,” he said, more to himself than his wingmen as they entered the trench that led to the exhaust port. “Keep an eye out for those fighters!”

“There’s too much interference,” Corinthe Ten told him worriedly. “Shouldn’t we be able to see them by now?”

Enjolras glanced out the window, craning his neck around to try to spot the CANNON fighters before they could sneak up behind them again. “Corinthe Five, can you see them from where you are?”

Cosette’s voice was calm, far calmer than it had previously been, and Enjolras allowed to relax for a brief moment as she said, “No sign of any—” Then she cut herself off. “Wait! Coming in three point five.”

Corinthe Ten’s voice was grim as he said, “I see them." 

“Corinthe Twelve, hang back with Corinthe Ten and take those fighters out,” Enjolras ordered. “I’m within range of the exhaust port.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Corinthe Twelve said, no trace of anxiety in her voice, and for not the first time Enjolras wondered at how willingly people followed his orders. Of course, with the CANNON fighters behind opening fire on them, now was probably not the time to speculate on if the hierarchical structure of military command ran at odds with the mission of the Revolution.

Instead, he pulled down his targeting device, making several adjustments on his screen as he zeroed in on the port. “Target’s coming up,” he reported. “Just hold them off for a few seconds.”

Of course, that’d be easier said than done, and he felt a pang when he heard Corinthe Ten’s cut-off scream when a laser hit home on his ship. Swallowing hard, he tried to block off the thought of Corinthe Ten’s death (of Corinthe Three, Four, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Eleven...all dead, all under his command…), and he shook his head, trying to regain his concentration as he peered through the targeting device, trying to ignore how tight his throat felt or how his vision seemed suddenly blurry.  
  
Only Corinthe Twelve interrupting his reverie was enough to jolt him back to the present, and he blinked rapidly as he heard him say, “You’d better loose those torpedoes!”

“Almost there,” Enjolras told him, making a few final adjustments as they approached. “Just one...moment...more…”

But it was one moment too many, as Corinthe Twelve told him, panicked, “I can’t hold them! I can’t—” before her ship exploded against the side of the trench.

Enjolras’s hand shook as he pulled the trigger of his proton torpedo launcher. “It’s away,” he reported, ignoring the way his voice cracked as he did.

The torpedo hit the rim of the exhaust port, causing a magnificent explosion that allowed Enjolras time to pull out of the trench before the CANNON fighters behind him could fire. “Is it a hit?” Combeferre asked over his headset, and only the voice of one of Enjolras’s oldest friends was enough to ground him in that moment.

“Negative,” he said, trying not to sound as defeated as he felt. “Negative. It didn’t go in — it just impacted on the surface.”

Suddenly, Cosette’s voice echoed in his ear. “Careful, Corinthe Leader, those fighters are coming after you!”

“I see them,” Enjolras said grimly, wheeling his ship around to face them.

“We’re right above you,” Cosette told him. “Turn to point oh-five and we’ll cover you.”

Enjolras shook his head as he barked, “Stay where you are!” Then, in a slightly softer tone, he added, his voice cracking again, “I’ve lost my starboard engine. I’ll take them on from here. Start your attack run while they’re distracted by me. It may be our only chance.”

For just a moment, he thought Cosette was going to argue with him, or worse, abandon her position to try to come to his aid, but then she said, with a fire that he didn’t recognize, “Yes sir. We’re going in full throttle.”

“May the Force be with you,” Enjolras told her, switching from his torpedo controls to his blaster controls. “They who die here die in the radiance of the future, and we are entering a tomb all flooded with the dawn.”

In her CAPTAIN-class ship, Moeder adjusted her weapons to aim at the Barricade-class fighter stagnant in space. “Take him,” she ordered.

In his ship, Enjolras smiled. “Bring it on.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In response to Jehan's question in the first paragraph, "That's what he said." On a more serious note, someone shows up in the nick of time and saves us all from having to suffer through an Orestes Fasting, Pylades Drunk repeat. Also Cosette gets some disembodied advice, which is actually a little creepy. She handles it well, though.

Cosette and Jehan piloted into the trench, flying at full speed, faster, perhaps, than was advisable if they didn’t want to end up killing themselves before the CANNON fighters could. As if realizing this, Jehan asked, a little nervously, “Are we going to be able to pull out in time?”

Smiling grimly, Cosette piloted forward even faster, anger and grief and adrenaline coursing through her veins and narrowing her focus. This was good — this was _easy_. This was her back home on her landspeeder navigating the desert wastes. She told Jehan as such, a hint of triumph in her voice. “This is just like back home.”

Jehan didn’t seem fully convinced, though he told her, “Alright, boss — I’ll stay back far enough to cover you. I hope you can see the exhaust port. My scope shows nothing, so the computer better be able to pick it up or this’ll be a short trip.”

“It’ll pick it up,” Cosette said with a confidence borne of pure adrenaline. “We’ll be out of here in no time.”

Up above the EDLM, Enjolras was having much the same thought, if for markedly different reasons. “Come on,” he muttered under his breath, his guns trained on the three Galactic Guard fighters. “Come and get me. What are you waiting for?”

Indeed, the three ships seemed to be hesitating for some reason, and suddenly, without warning, the middle ship, the slightly more advanced CAPTAIN-class ship, split off from the other two, heading back towards the trench, and Enjolras quickly told Cosette and Jehan, “Corinthe Two and Five, head’s up! You’ve got company heading your way.”  
  
Cosette swore under her breath, swearing even more when the controls of her ship beeped a warning. “Q4, the rear stabilizer’s come loose,” she told the droid, her anxiety making her voice sharper than she intended. “See if you can lock it down. We’re going to need rear deflectors on full.”

While Q4 beeped its reply, Cosette turned her attention to Jehan. “Everything good with you, Corinthe Two?” 

“Fine at the moment, but you better hurry,” Jehan replied, his voice grim. “This one’s coming in much faster this time, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold them.”

Cosette huffed a frustrated sigh, turning her attention back to the trench. “Just do what you can, ok?” Then she asked Enjolras, “And you, Corinthe Leader?”

Enjolras sounded almost as frustrated as Cosette felt. “They aren’t attacking,” he reported in a low voice. “I’m not entirely sure what they’re waiting on, but I can’t divert any more power from my stabilizers to my weapons systems until I’m sure that I can get both of them.”

“Great,” Cosette said, gritting her teeth. “So we’re all pretty much screwed, then.”

At that moment, if possible, things got even worse, with the CAPTAIN ship firing at Jehan, who yelped. “I’m hit!” he told both Cosette and Enjolras, a note of panic in his voice. “Cosette, I won’t be able to stay with you, but I can try to take this ship down.”

Cosette shook her head. “What are you talking about?” she demanded. “Get clear! You can’t do any more good back there.”

“Yeah, I can,” Jehan told her, determined. “A lot more good than I could if I left now.”

Enjolras started, “Corinthe Two—” but Cosette cut him off.

“Jehan.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “There’s more than one way to be intrepid, and the Revolution needs you.” She raised her voice to add to Enjolras, “Just like it needs you, Corinthe Leader, despite what you may think.”

As Jehan flew away from the trench, muttering, “Sorry” as he did, Enjolras drummed his fingers against the controls of his ship. Sensing his train of thought, Cosette commanded, “Stay with me, Corinthe Leader. Keep those other ships occupied until I can get to the exhaust port.”

“Fine,” Enjolras muttered, “But I’m not going to stick around here and wait for them to just come for me. If they want me, they’re going to have to come get me.”  
  
With that said, he took off, diverting all his remaining power to the engines as he turned and sped, leading the two ships away from the trench and Cosette, who had just pulled down her computer targeting device, her blood pounding in her ears as she squinted toward the exhaust port. She lined up the crosshairs with the tiny exhaust port, which looked so much smaller in person that she had imagined, and was about to look through the device again when, clear as day, she heard Valjean’s voice. “Use the Force, Cosette,” he urged.

Startled, Cosette jerked away from the targeting device, her heart pounding harder than ever. It was possible that she had lost it, that losing Éponine had pushed her over the edge, since she _couldn’t_ be hearing Valjean because he was dead, plain and simple. Shaking her head, she leaned back in, only to hear Valjean again. “Let go, Cosette.”  
  
For a moment, Cosette glared at the targeting device, tears blurring her eyes and anger coursing through her veins. Valjean was _dead_ and even if he wasn’t, what did he know about right now and what she was going through? This was the one chance that the Revolution had to strike back against the Empire, and she wasn’t going to throw it away over some _voice_ —

“Not to rush you,” Enjolras interrupted, “but these ships are faster than you might think.” 

Cosette closed her eyes for a brief moment, completely overwhelmed by the mess of emotions she felt, anger and loss being the strongest, and again she heard Valjean’s voice, this time urgently. “Cosette, trust me. Let go of your emotions and trust the Force to guide you.”  
  
After a single moment of hesitation more, Cosette took a deep, calming breath, and pushed the button on her console to disengage her targeting device. Almost instantly, Combeferre’s voice squawked in her ear, “Corinthe Five, you switched off your targeting computer. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Cosette told him, with far more confidence than she felt. “I’m just going to do this the old-fashioned way.”

In the meantime, Enjolras found himself at a dead-end of sorts, blocked from behind by an EDLM tower that had him in its sight and in front by the two CANNON fighters that had finally caught up to him, and with minimal power left in his ship. He gritted his teeth, a muscle working in his jaw as he stared at the fighters that were inevitably going to destroy him.

He wished there was something that he could say, some perfectly defiant speech to give before he met his fate, going the same way as the planet he grew up on, but no words came to him, only the sudden, hollow feeling of loss.

Still, he braced himself for impact as the ships prepared to fire, when suddenly, over his headset, he heard a familiar voice shout, “Long Live the Galactic Republic!”

Out of nowhere, the Musain swooped in, and Enjolras couldn’t help but grin. “Do you permit it, your highness?” Grantaire asked, his voice loud in Enjolras’s ear.

“I’ve never been happier to hear someone call me that,” Enjolras replied, and Grantaire laughed before opening fire on the two ships, the Musain’s guns making short work of the two CANNON ships. “You came back,” Enjolras continued, once the ships were destroyed, a question in his voice.

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Grantaire said, “Yeah, well, I couldn’t just leave you here.”

Enjolras’s smile softened, then faded into something more serious. “Well, unfortunately, you’re gonna have to. My engines are almost dead and if I want to make it back to base, I need to go now. But Cosette is in trouble and she needs your help.”

“What?” Grantaire said, sounding a little stunned. “But — you — you won’t make it back on your own!”

Shaking his head, Enjolras told him firmly, “You came back to help the Revolution, and this is how you can help. Get Cosette through this, blow up this fucking space station, and meet me back at base.”

For a long second, it seemed like Grantaire might argue, but then he said, his voice suddenly odd-sounding, “Right. Helping the Revolution. Well, your wish is my command, your highness.”

And with that, the ships parted ways, Enjolras heading back towards the base as Grantaire swooped towards the trench, where the CAPTAIN-class ship was gaining on her. A well-placed shot hit Q4, who shrieked as its dome was engulfed in flame. “I’ve lost Q4!” Cosette called, panicked more for the droid than anything.

“Hurry, Cosette,” Combeferre urged from the base. “The EDLM has cleared the planet and could fire on us any moment!”

Cosette took a shaky breath as she stared down the trench, her thumb resting lightly on her torpedo trigger. Suddenly, Grantaire’s voice sounded in her ear. “Looks like you could use a little help!”

The Musain opened fire on the CAPTAIN ship, clipping its wing and sending it spinning out of the trench and into the depths of space. “You’re all clear, kid,” Grantaire told Cosette cheerfully. “Now blow this thing and let’s go home!”

Looking directly at the narrow opening, Cosette took a deep, calming breath, her thoughts solely on the simple task that needed to be accomplished, and the entire galaxy seemed to slow down around her. She could feel each of her breaths, her heartbeat, but could also feel something...wider, larger, pulsing around her. And suddenly, what had seemed impossible now seemed so terribly easy.

Allowing herself a smile, Cosette pushed the trigger, the torpedos speeding towards the exhaust port. They seemed to disappear, finding their mark and disappearing into the exhaust port and assumedly heading for the main reactor.

Cosette threw her head back in relief, closing her eyes for a brief second before allowing a triumphant grin to spread across her face. “Great shot!” Grantaire told her. “That was one in a million. Now let’s get the hell out of here before we get caught up in the explosion to come.” 

Nodding, Cosette started to turn her ship, pausing when she heard Valjean’s voice again. It was gentler this time, approving, and her smile turned soft as she listened to him say, “Remember, the Force will be with you — always.”

Still grinning, she pulled out of the trench to follow Grantaire as they raced back towards the Revolution base. “Enjolras is never going to let you hear the end of this, you know,” Cosette warned him over the rumbling of the space station as it slowly imploded from the inside.

“Hear the end of what?” Grantaire asked innocently. “I’m the one who saved his ass. If anything, he’s never going to hear the end of this from me.”

“You realize I can still hear you both, right?” Enjolras asked over the intercom, and both Grantaire and Cosette fell silent, though it sounded like one of the Wookiees had to stifle a howling laugh.

And behind them, the EDLM burst into a million pieces, scattering across the stars.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some comforting, some bickering, and a big ol' award ceremony to boot. A happy ending...at least for now. *dun dun dun*

As soon as the ship touched the ground, Cosette had leaped out of it, beaming widely. Jehan was the first to reach her, also grinning as he picked her up and spun her around. “You did it!” he told her before kissing her cheek. “The most intrepid of us all.”

Blushing, Cosette laughed and pushed him away, only to be picked up by Enjolras, who, despite his slight frame, possessed more strength than one might think. “We did it,” he told her, triumph in his voice, but there was more there, too, a sadness that lingered in his eyes, and she reached up to touch his cheek gently, trying to show that she understood.

By then, Grantaire had reached their side, followed by the two Wookiees, and Enjolras dropped her so quickly she would’ve fallen over if Bossuet had grabbed her with his surprisingly gentle arms. Enjolras threw his arms around Grantaire, whose eyes went wide as he froze. “I knew you’d come back,” Enjolras told him, his voice muffled against Grantaire’s shoulder.

Grantaire patted Enjolras’s back awkwardly, staring at Cosette as if begging for help, but she just winked before giving Joly a hug. “Well, I couldn’t let you take all the credit,” Grantaire told Enjolras, who, as if realizing he was holding Grantaire still, instantly let go, his face turning beet red. 

Cosette cleared her throat and slung her arm around Grantaire’s shoulders. “And I knew you cared about more than just a reward,” she said slyly, squeezing him tightly.

Enjolras shouted, “Combeferre!”, waving enthusiastically at the man before leaving them to give Combeferre a hug. It was far-less enthusiastic than the hug he had given Grantaire, but Grantaire stiffened under Cosette’s arm, staring at the two embracing.

Though Cosette dropped her arm and turned to say something to him, she broke off when she caught sight of the ground crew taking Q4 down from her ship. “Oh, no,” she muttered, pushing past Grantaire to rush to Q4’s side, joined by MAR-E-S, who seemed devastated by the state of its friend.

“Q4 — Q4, can you hear me?” MAR-E-S asked anxiously. “Say something, anything!” It turned to the mechanic, who had bent to examine the damage. “You can repair it, can’t you?”

The mechanic glanced up at Cosette as if questioning whether she had to actually answer the questions, then sighed and glanced at the droid. “We’ll do everything we can,” she promised, patting MAR-E-S’s shoulder. “Your friend is in good hands.”

Her words didn’t seem to reassure it much. “Oh, you must repair him, sir. If any of my circuits or gears will help, I’ll gladly donate them!”

Cosette patted MAR-E-S’s other shoulder and reassured it, “Q4 will be alright. It’s made of sturdy stuff and has probably been through worse scrapes than this.”

MAR-E-S nodded slowly. “I don’t know what I’d do without it,” it confessed. “It’s my best and oldest friend — been there for all of our adventures.”

Nodding as well, Cosette could feel her eyes fill with tears and she looked away as she tried desperately not to think of _her_ oldest friend, who could never be recovered no matter how many mechanics would try. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Across the hangar, Enjolras caught her eye, and the smile disappeared off of his face as he watched Cosette turn and leave.

* * *

 

“Hey,” Enjolras said quietly, leaning against the doorframe of a small machine shed off the side of the main hangar. “I saw you slip away, figured I’d check to make sure you were ok.”

Cosette looked up at him from where she sat on an overturned crate, her eyes red, and she shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t think I am,” she said, her voice hoarse. “It’s just...we’ve lost so much, and I know that overall we won, and that’s reason to celebrate, but…” She trailed off and shook her head again.

Enjolras sighed and walked over to her, pulling up his own crate and sitting down on it. “I know,” he said quietly. “Believe me, I know.” He glanced away and swallowed hard before saying in a low voice, “I should’ve died out there, with my squadron. The captain goes down with the ship and all that. It’s not right that they’re all dead and I’m—”

“—Still here,” Cosette finished, looking over at him. “But surely you don’t actually think that. You did _everything_ you could out there, and it’s a miracle that you didn’t die.” She nudged him gently. “A _good_ miracle.”

Shrugging, Enjolras sighed again, looking tired and drawn. “It’s pretty hard to believe that right now,” he muttered. “Those weren’t just fighters — those were friends, comrades in arms, people who sacrificed everything for the Cause, and what did I sacrifice?” 

Cosette shrugged as well. “Maybe there’s more than one kind of sacrifice,” she said softly, unconsciously echoing what she had told Prouvaire before. “Maybe living with the guilt of surviving is sacrifice enough. Or maybe all the amazing things that you have done and will do for this revolution will more than balance.”

Enjolras glanced at her. “When did you get so wise?” he asked after a long moment.

Laughing, Cosette shook her head. “I don’t know,” she told him. “Maybe Valjean rubbed off on me a little.” 

“Maybe it’s the Force speaking through you,” Enjolras suggested, smiling slightly, and then they both laughed.

They were interrupted by someone clearing his throat in the doorway, and they looked up to find Combeferre smiling down at them. “I hate to interrupt,” he told them, “but I have news. The remnants of the Saint-Sever Directory wish to present the Grand Croix dela Légion d'honneur to Cosette, Grantaire, Joly and Bossuet for their service in destroying the EDLM.”

Cosette blinked at him. “The what now?” she asked.

Enjolras bowed his head and swallowed hard before telling her softly, “It’s the highest honor that Saint-Sever afforded to those who defended it,” he told her hollowly. He looked up at Combeferre and nodded. “A fitting way to honor my home planet as well.” Cosette reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it, and Enjolras half-smiled. “If the Directory will allow it, I would like to present the award myself.”

Combeferre’s face softened and he crossed the room in two strides to bend down and kiss Enjolras’s forehead. “Of course,” he told him in a soft voice. “I will tell the Directory. I can’t imagine they’d have an issue with it.”

Enjolras smiled up at him in wordless thanks, and after nodding to Cosette, Combeferre left, heading back to the hangar. Cosette stared after him, then turned to Enjolras, one eyebrow arched. “So…” she started. “What, uh, what’s going on there? With Combeferre?”

Enjolras stared at her, confused. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Cosette shrugged. “You know, the hugging and forehead kiss and wordless communication…” 

“He’s my oldest friend,” Enjolras said, but not defensively, still sounding confused as to what she was getting at. “We’ve known each other for as long as I could remember. He’s like a brother to me.”

“Oh,” Cosette said, looking suddenly relieved, and at Enjolras’s startled look, explained, “I just thought, you know, you like guys, and, well, Combeferre’s a guy and a pretty decent-looking one at that, and—”

Enjolras’s eyes went wide and he shook his head. “Uh, no. Definitely not. I mean, I love him, don’t get me wrong, but not like that.” Then his eyes narrowed. “And not to accuse you of something, but...why do you care?”

Cosette blushed slightly and looked away. “I, uh, I just thought maybe you might have feelings for…” She trailed off before finishing, a little lamely, “Feelings for someone.”

Enjolras glanced at her and bit his lip, suddenly looking awkward. “I, uh, I hope I didn’t somehow give you the wrong idea—” he started painfully, and Cosette burst out laughing. 

“Oh my god, _no_ , definitely not that.” She patted his arm with a bit more force than necessary. “I literally could not care less who you’re into, if anyone.” She paused before adding innocently, “But there might be someone else who does.” Standing, she bent to kiss Enjolras’s cheek before telling him, “Just something to think about.”

With that said, she left for the hangar, leaving Enjolras staring after her, trying desperately to figure out who the hell she was talking about.

* * *

 

Grantaire stared at himself in the mirror of the antechamber off of the Great Hall, tugging on the vest he had borrowed, willing it to grow a few inches to actually extend to the waistband of his pants. He heard muffled laughter and turned to glare at Enjolras, who was watching him with an arched eyebrow. “Sorry I’m not used to these hoighty Saint-Sever fashions,” Grantaire muttered, feeling the flush spread across his face.

Making a face, Enjolras strolled into the room, gesturing at his own outfit. “Yeah, well, neither am I,” he said, a little sourly. “I prefer red to white and something a bit tighter to this flowing nonsense.” He tugged on the sleeve of his shirt. “I feel like a pirate.”

“Well, as a pirate, I’d make a comment about your clothes being tighter, but given the serious nature of the ceremony about to start, I’ll refrain,” Grantaire said lightly.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I wanted to ask you something,” he blurted. When Grantaire just stared at him expectantly, he blushed a little and looked down before asking, “Why did you come back?”

Thankfully, he wasn’t looking at Grantaire to see the mess of emotions that flashed across his face before his expression became more neutral. “Well, I mean, sorry if I ruined your martyrdom attempt, but I figured someone had to save Cosette, and you were on the way, so.”

“No, I don’t mean—” Enjolras started, before stopping and glaring at Grantaire. “I’m not _angry_ with you for saving me, or for coming back. If anything, I wanted to thank you. I just...I thought there might be a reason.”

Grantaire looked at him closely. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I just...if something had happened, and I wasn’t at least there, I don’t know if I could have…” He broke off before shaking his head. “I don’t know. I just...I had to. So I did. Simple as that.”

For a moment, it looked like Enjolras was going to argue or demand a better answer, but then shook his head and smiled slightly. “Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter why you came back, so long as you did.”

 Now Grantaire’s eyes narrowed, and he moved closer to Enjolras, a smirk beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. “You know, you can just say it,” he said, his voice low.

“Say what?” Enjolras asked, suddenly a little breathy, as if he realized for the first time just how close they were in the otherwise empty room.

 Grantaire smiled sweetly at him, his eyes glinting, and he leaned in so that they were mere inches away. “What you’ve been trying to say since you came in here.”

Enjolras swallowed, hard. “And, uh, what would that be?”

Leaning in even closer, it looked for one moment as if Grantaire was going to kiss Enjolras, but then he leaned in past to whisper in Enjolras’s ear, “Thank you.”

Seemingly frozen in place, Enjolras asked, his voice about an octave higher than usual, “Thank you?”

Grantaire took a step back and raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, thank you,” he said, in his normal tone of voice. “You know, for saving your life?”

Now Enjolras scowled and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Thank you?” he repeated. “I already did!”

“No, you didn’t,” Grantaire said, smirking. “You said you _should_ thank me, but you never actually did. So, I mean, you can tell me at any time.”

Enjolras’s glare deepened and he opened his mouth to retort when suddenly MAR-E-S poked its head in the room. “Forgive me, sirs — Master Cosette sent me to tell you that the ceremony is about to begin.” 

Enjolras quickly turned away from Grantaire, who rolled his eyes. “Right,” Enjolras said. “The ceremony. Right. I’ll just, uh…” He glanced back at Grantaire, who winked at him, before blushing and muttering, “I’ll see you up there.”

He headed out as quickly as possible, and MAR-E-S looked at Grantaire. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I, sir?” MAR-E-S asked.

Grantaire laughed and patted MAR-E-S on its shiny shoulder. “Of course not,” he said lightly. “It’s not like there was anything to interrupt in the first place.”

* * *

 

Grantaire slipped into the back of the Great Hall just as the fanfare began, and he squeezed Cosette’s hand. “You doing ok?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth. 

“Fine, just ready to get this over with,” he replied before nodding at her shiny golden dress. “You look good, by the way.”

Snorting, she smacked his hand away. “Keep your head in the game,” she hissed. “And keep those Wookiees in line.”

Joly and Bossuet howled at her in unison, though they quieted when she winked at them. Then the music swelled, and taking a deep breath, they all stepped forward. On either side of the aisle they walked down were hundreds of Revolution troops, who stood solemnly as the four passed. Ahead, on the dais, Enjolras stood next to a line of dignitaries, with Combeferre seated at the end.

As they approached, from the far side they heard familiar whistles, and Cosette turned to grin at Q4, looking more pristine than ever. She saluted it and it chirped happily.

Finally, after what seemed like an impossibly long walk, they were at the dais, and the four stood assembled, looking solemnly up at Enjolras, who gestured for an attendant, who brought forward a pillow with four stunning gold medallions resting on top. Enjolras picked up the first medal and presented it to Joly, who growled appreciatively, and then gave the second to Bossuet, who was strangely silent.

Then he turned to Grantaire, who was smirking again, and Enjolras rolled his eyes as he bent to place the gold medallion around Grantaire’s neck. As he pulled back, Grantaire grabbed his hand and lifted it to his mouth to kiss his knuckles, surprisingly gentle, and Enjolras looked startled. Then Grantaire finished by winking and saying in a low voice, “Your Highness,” and Enjolras scowled.

His expression softened as he turned finally to Cosette, and as he leaned in to place the medallion around her neck, Enjolras whispered in her ear, “To survivor’s guilt.”

“No,” Cosette whispered back. “To the Revolution.”

Enjolras grinned, and as one, Joly, Bossuet, Grantaire and Cosette turned to face the assembled crowd, which broke into applause. Both Wookiees howled triumphantly, and Cosette laughed, feeling lighter than she had since leaving Montfermeil, light enough to temporarily forget her grief and loss, and forget especially the fight that was still to come.

She had her friends, who were quickly becoming her family, and together, they would face whatever came their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who have read and kudos'd, commented, etc. I really just started writing this for my own enjoyment but it's nice to know other people are enjoying it as well. Stay tuned for Episode V, coming in September!!


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